After the Breakfast Club
by Savvy'sGut
Summary: Age old mystery of what happens after that memorable detention and the lives involved.
1. Chapter 1

_I truly like the film, The Breakfast Club (you should watch it if you hadn't seen it). I think it's a lovely story and shows aspects of childhood many adults don't notice or just forgot about. It always brings tears to my eyes and I have to watch it at least once a year. Enjoy and please review._

* * *

Allison was humming to herself as she slowly made her way to school. She smiled softly as she watched her feet taking steps on the sidewalk, careful not to step on a crack.

"'Or break you mother's back'." she muttered to herself.

She stopped walking, noticing a ladybird making its way across the sidewalk, too. She crouched down to examine it further, pulling out her sketchbook as she did. Allison reached for a single blade of grass on the lawn beside her and pulled it. Biting her lower lip, she carefully placed the blade beside the insect and waited patiently until she irritated it enough that it decided to crawl onto the green blade. Smiling to herself, Allison gently placed the grass on her knee and began to sketch, the ladybird kindly laying quite still.

Soon, the insect began to move again, which was fine with Allison, she was done with her drawing and simply waiting until the ladybird felt confident again. She watched as it spread its wings and flew off and away from her. Allison watched it until she couldn't make the insect out any longer and frowned. She suddenly felt very lonely. She let out a sigh and turned her attention toward school, not looking forward to the prospect.

Focusing on her feet again, Allison felt her hair fall over her face as she was walking through a particularly difficult distance of sidewalk. If she remembered correctly, there was an underground water pipe that had broken a few years back, corroded because the city planner decided spending money on her side of the neighbourhood was a last resort. Unfortunately for the planner, this particular pipe connected to four main water lines, one of which was for fire hydrant. A few doors down, a house caught on fire and when the fire brigade showed up, there wasn't any water to save the house. No one died, but a family lost a home and the city was sued.

Allison laughed at this as she danced her way on the sidewalk, enjoying herself thoroughly as she tiptoed, trying to avoid the cracks. She had done this every morning for the past year and often believed this was the best time of the day. She knew it wasn't true, but Allison sometimes thought that perhaps if she did accidentally step on a crack, her mother would end up in the hospital. She couldn't do it on purpose, because that would defeat the purpose. Allison never tried though. Why would she want to break her mother's back? Honestly, if she had that power, she'd wonder what else she could do? Fly, Allison decided. She wanted to fly.

First bell.

Allison looked up, her school waiting for her. She stopped from across the street and looked up at it, wondering what would happen if she didn't show up. Not much. Maybe. The only reason she went was to get a chance to leave her house and force herself to explore. That was her routine: school, home, work. Or home, school, work. Or even, work, school, home. She hated this part. She hated having to cross the street, narrowly being missed by the cars on the busy street, trying to push her way past the crowds of people just so that she could get inside. It made her nervous.

_Come on, Allison_, she prepped herself, _just do it. It'll be faster if you ran._

She always told herself the same thing and she always listened, so, she ran as fast as she could. Damn, she forgot to look both ways. She heard the screech of tires, the honk of horns, and curses all in her direction. Allison covered her ears from the loud noises, trying to ignore all the looks she was receiving. She felt her face warming but it was too late to slow down; she was almost to the entrance and all Allison wanted to do was get inside.

Her eyes entirely focused on the double doors leading inside, Allison did not notice when someone stepped in front of her. She grunted from the impact and fell backwards. She gasped, as she landed hard on the concrete of the walkway leading to the safe confines of the school.

"Fuck." she cursed softly, her bag falling from her grip and its contents falling out. Laughter fell into her ears. She began reaching for her things, her face reddening even more, and her eyes watering. All her precious sketches and all her pens, everywhere, "Damnitdamnitdamnit..."

"Shit, I'm real sorry." said another voice over her. Allison ignored whoever it was, trying to gather all her notebooks and shove them into her bag. The voice continued, a hand holding her pens in front of her "You run fast. I had to sprint across the lawn to stop you in time."

Allison felt angered, not answering the son of a bitch that stopped her. She reached for the pens and snatched them away, shoving those in as well. She was about to stand when she realised the hand was still there, waiting for her to take it. Furrowing her eyebrows she looked up and her anger faded immediately.

* * *

Andy rubbed his face as he made his way down the stairs of his parents' house. On the wall of the stairs were photographs of his family, him with his trophies, his older brother, Jeff, with his wife and child and his younger brother, Ryan, hugging his mother. Andy walked past these photographs without another thought and headed into the kitchen. No one was around, but that wasn't unusual; both of his parents worked. Andy saw a note on the fridge from his mother wishing him a good day and that his lunch was inside. He frowned at the other note, however, from his father. It was a daily schedule Andy had to make sure he followed. Andy reached for it and crumpled it, placing it on the kitchen table so that his father would see it first.

He knew he was being a hypocrite, but it wasn't like he had much of a choice and he hated himself for it. He opened the fridge door forcefully, the contents on the door rattling violently at the movement, and for some reason, this only made him angrier. He pulled out milk for his cereal, orange juice, bread for toast, an apple, and a banana and slammed them all on the table. Andy could feel himself grinding his teeth as he got his breakfast ready, angry at himself, his father, at everyone.

He suddenly got a reminder and paused. He let out a sigh and leaned against the table for a moment, calming himself. _Everything is fine_, he thought, _you're almost there._ He sighed again and with a forceful calm, he began to eat, quickly. The faster he ate, the faster he could leave. Andy took large bites and swallowed taking gulps of orange juice in between to soften the bites. He placed his dishes in the sink, washed them, cleaned off the mess on the table and ran up the stairs to dress. He began to whistle.

Andy unlocked his car, throwing his bags in the passenger seat. He climbed in and placed his keys in the ignition. His car roared and he drove backwards down the driveway, looking both ways before driving onto the street, changing gears and charging up the street toward school. He rolled his window down and let the cool air wash over his face. He vaguely wondered if he had finished his homework and realised he hadn't. He decided he would, once he arrived at the school and found a quiet spot. He drove faster.

His mind was on other things, some pleasing, others not so much. His elbow was on the windowsill of his car door, his fist under his chin. His thoughts was slowly creeping toward her father's note. After he had parked, Andy stepped out of his car before slamming it shut, his jaw clenched and his hands in fists. He closed his eyes briefly and inhaled then exhaled deeply, trying to calm his temper as much as he could. He used his keys to lock the door and out of habit, pulled the handle just in case it wasn't locked. He dropped his keys in his pocket, checked to see he had his wallet on him, and re-positioning his backpack, he began to walk toward the school.

He nodded his head toward people that called his name, gave a few high-fives and smiled at passing girls that gave him a flirting grin. His mind was somewhere else though. He was looking for someone, someone that he was looking forward to seeing, he just didn't know where to look. He scanned the sea of faces on the front lawn, all waiting for school to start, but there was no one he cared to communicate with.

"An-day!"

Andy turned his head and saw his friends running at him. _Shit_, he thought, dropping his bag and readying himself for the impact. He grunted as the rest of his teammates lunged at him, knocking him heavily to the ground and all the air rushed out of his lungs. He struggled, using headlocks, takedowns, and avalanches before he and the others had given up or were bruised enough to stop. He enjoyed that, and guffawed and laughed with his teammates and anyone else close by that were watching them.

When Andy was calmer and was standing up straight, he ran a hand through his hair, looking around. He frowned, trying to focus his attention in finding her. He wondered if she was already inside. Yeah, he'll do that. He reached for his bag and shouldered it once more, heading toward the school's entrance.

"Where you goin', man?"

Andy hardly heard his friend calling to him and gave a wave of peace before walking closer to the entrance. His eyes stopped, there she was, just across the street. He smiled to himself, thinking how very cute she was, how delicate and soft. He was heading toward her when she began to run. His eyes widened as he watched a car speeding toward her direction.

"Fuck." He whispered, his heart beating against his chest, wondering how she had survived that, but there was no time to think about it, she was still running and he didn't want to miss her.

He dropped his bag and sprinted across the lawn his eyes still on her. He pushed people out of the way, jumping over obstacles. He just wanted to touch her and hold her. She was covering her face and didn't see him heading her way. He knew how this was going to end because he couldn't stop himself in time and collided with her.

He hardly felt her as she bounced off him, but he certainly didn't want it to be the way they would meet again. He watched her fall backwards and slam against the floor, he winced at the pain she might have felt, watching her bag spill out all over the walkway. He heard laughter around him and glared at those who dared. He quickly walked over to her and helped her with her things, apologising.

She was angry, and he understood. He gave her his hand to help her up but she didn't take it right away, staring at it. When she finally looked up, her mouth opened to a big "O".

"Hi." Andy said, smiling at her.

* * *

Claire moved a fringe of hair over her ear and off her face. Then she replaced it, then she moved it back again. She raised her arms and hit her sides in impatience as she stared at herself in her full-length mirror on the other side of her bedroom door. She didn't know what she liked more or what she hated more. Frowning, she decided to forget it and forced herself to walk away. Whatever, she'd rationalise about it later.

She walked over to her vanity and sat on the small white stool in front of it. Again, she looked at herself and the fringe. She pushed it back and reached for the compact, placing it carefully in her purse. She then found her lipstick, mascara, and eyeliner and placed those inside her purse as well. She stood up from her stool, her eyes looking over the desk to see if she needed anything else for school. Her chest gave a jolt when she noticed a lone diamond earring, sitting quietly by itself, almost hidden under her other jewlery. She blinked at it a few times, thinking hard, her heart beating. She swallowed once and shook her head. She was just about to look at herself in the mirror again but thought better of it and walk away from her vanity and the other mirror behind the door. She pulled her bag off her four-poster and placed her purse inside of it before leaving her room.

Claire slowly opened the door to her bedroom and peeked outside, waiting for any signs of movement or talking. Nothing. She took a step out, placing her bag on her shoulder and tiptoed out of her room, closing her door as softly as she could. She moved as silently down the hallway, heading for the stairs. She stopped once again, listening. She peered around a wall and saw the door to her parents's bedroom open, well, her mother's. Her parents haven't slept in the same room for about ten years now. She wrinkled her nose as the faint smell of spirits and wine made their way into her nostrils. Claire frowned, hating everything about the house she lived in.

She quickly made her way down the spiral staircase and toward the kitchen. It was quiet and dark. She reached for the switch and turned the light on. Three set of bulbs above her lit up the marble island in the middle of the kitchen. Claire wasn't feeling too hungry at the moment, but opened the fridge for the salad Andrea, the house-keeper, nanny, friend, had made for her last night. She wished Andrea was around more often, but the woman had a family of her own and Claire doubted any sensible person would want to stay where she lived.

Claire opened up the container of the salad to make sure it was the one she wanted, the plastic echoing loudly against the tiled floor. She winced, pausing for any sound. Nothing. She crept toward the other side of the kitchen, wondering where her father was. He was usually up by now, making himself a coffee or something before work. Was he even home? Claire dropped her salad into her purse, grabbing a bottle of water and walked to the garage, her heel s clicking against the floor.

She reached into her purse to rummage for her car keys. She found her sunglasses instead and put those one as she reached the door into the garage. She reached around and pressed the button for the garage door. As it opened she began looking for her keys again. Sighing with impatience, she shook her purse and heard the faint ingle of keys. They were definitely in there. It was only a few moments more before she found it and sighed again. She unlocked her car door, stepped in and began to drive.

When she finally arrived at the school, she made sure her appearance was as good as she believed it should be. Claire took off her sunglasses, adjusted the rearview mirror to focus on her, along with her side mirrors, and pulled out her compact as well. Three different sides, three different views. Nope, everything was fine. She smiled to herself and replaced her sunglass back on her face before stepping out of the car. She let out a sigh and began to walk. Before she got very far, Claire heard a squeal. She winced at the sound, but inside only, she didn't show it on her face at all. She turned her head in that direction and plastered her best smile.

"Steph, hey."

"Claire!" Steph squealed again, giving her friend a hug, "Are you okay? Is everything okay? You missed the party Saturday."

"Yeah." Claire said with a nod, walking again, Steph beside her, "My parents wanted to...talk."

"Talk?" Steph said, looking at her oddly, "About what? I thought they didn't talk."

"They don't." Claire said, "It was pretty weird."

"Hey, wait, don't." Steph said, moving Claire's hand out of the way. She had subconsciously moved the dratted fringe while she was listening. Her hair was tickling her nose.

"What?" Claire said moving her head back away from Steph's hand.

"It's better in the front." Stephe said, her fingers combing her hair, "There."

Claire sighed, feeling annoyed.

"Oh my god!" Steph squealed, "Well, Nicole and Marcia will be here soon. They were at the party, and you wouldn't believe what happened..."

And she continued, on and on and on. Claire nodded and and made noises of agreement and disapproval in all the right places, but she knew Steph wasn't really listening, but neither was Claire. This conversation was about as far away from her mind as the moon. And still, she continued.

Clarie sighed inwardly, as she numbly walked up the steps to the school, Steph jabbering away about absolutely nothing. Claire opened the door and walked in, holding it behind her for Steph to walk through, who wasn't really paying attention as she giggled from something she must have said, Claire didn't remember. Frowning, Claire made an excuse about saying she had a really bad stomachache and needed to head for the nurses. Steph looked slighty put out and irritated for being interrupted. Claire watched her shrug her shoulders and turn around, walking a huff.

Claire scoffed at the attitude and instead of turning left for the nurse's station, she walked straight to her locker. She turned the dial of her lock and heard a satisfying click. She pulled the lock down and opened her locker, placing the lock inside. Almost automatically, she looked at herself in the mirror she had placed on the door, frowning at her fringe, then at herself; old habits die hard. She reached into her bag and pulled out the books she would not need and replaced them others. She reached her folders to make sure her homework was done and safe. Giving herself a mental nod, she reached her lock and the locker door, again checking her appearance.

"Damn it." she whispered and quickly closed the door but not before noticing another presence that was standing directly behind her.

Her heart skipped a beat and she jumped, not scared, but very surprised. She turned around slowly and unconsciously moved her fringe of stray hair over her ear.

* * *

John moved as slowly as he could off his bed. His feet found the floor before he turned his head to look on the other side. There he saw his baby brother, Mark, sleeping soundly under the covers, his small thumb in his mouth. John reached over and placed his covers closer to Mark's neck and tucked him in. He opened his bedroom door and peered out of it. He could hear the television across the hallway blaring. Either his mother was watching it or had fallen asleep in front of it. John crept into the hallway and walked toward his brother's room, looking for his stuffed animal, Ducky. John found it and picked it up before creeping back into his room. Mark was still asleep, his small eyes fluttering and his mouth moving to whatever beat he had in his dreams. John hoped to fucking god it was a good dream. He tiptoed closer to his baby brother and carefully placed Ducky under Mark's arms. He turned around and closed the door behind him.

He headed for the kitchen, passing by his parents' bedroom door, giving it only a passing glance. It was his mother sleeping in front of the television. Again. He made a sound under his breath and frowned, as he entered the kitchen. Dishes were piled in the sink, take away had over-filled the bins and there were flies. John was normally a very neat person and if he let it, this would bother him to no end, but there was in no fucking way he was going to clean up after his goddamned parents. Fuck. That.

He opened the fridge and peered inside. Nothing. Beer. Beer. Oh, look, vodka and beer. A carrot. Old milk. And was that...a rotten orange. _Shit._ John continued to curse under his breath and looked at the clock on the wall. He had less than two hours before school started, and for the first time in a long time, he wanted to be in school, today. For an idealised reason, perhaps, but a reason. He had planned well and everything seemed to be going perfectly.

He slammed the door of the fridge angrily, startling is mother who made a sleepy noise from the hall but he ignored it and walked out his back door. He made his way past the broken tires and broken toolshed. John climbed over the old rusted car that was parked and hopped over his fence into his neighbour's backyard. The store was about ten blocks away and he needed to get there fast. Quickly, he jumped over multiple fences, ignoring the shouts from his other neighbours that happened to be out that morning at that precise time.

He had made it ten blocks in fifteen minutes. He was sweating and panting as he walked into the store, he knew others were looking at him but he didn't give a shit and glared. It was that needed to be done, he knew he looked scary; that was the fucking point. He headed down the aisles for a small carton of milk, bottled fruit, bread, and a few juice-boxes he knew Mark liked. Piling all these things in his arms he moved through the aisles again, to see if there was anything else he might be able to get. He paused, staring at a pastry. It looked good. He grabbed it.

John walked over to the cashier and dropped all the things unceremoniously on the counter, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a messy wad of cash and coins. The girl behind the counter kept her face down, staring at the food, and avoiding his gaze entirely. John laughed at this, unable to keep it quiet, and it only made the girl nervous. Her hands trembled whe she lifted her hand and mumbled something.

"What?" John asked, loudly, making the girl jump, "Can't understand a word you're saying...Agnes."

"10.15...please." The woman said louder. John handed over the money and she dropped the coins on the ground from her trembling hands.

John scoffed and shook his head as he bagged his things and walked away. He had given her a dollar more but he didn't really care. He took the same route back, but a little more carefully. There were no neighbours out back which he was more than happy about. He made it to his fence and hopped over it, landing heavily on the roof of the old car. He hopped of into the grass, nearly tripping on broken tires. He kicked it before walking into the house again through the back. He paused before moving in any further however. He heard nothing, but that didn't mean anything. He took another step forward and waited. He did this until he was inside his room and had closed the door again.

He heard movement. He looked up and saw Mark starting to stir. John dropped the groceries on his bed and started taking the contents out. He heard a yawn and from the corner of his eye he watched Mark rub his eyes vigorously before opening them and sitting up.

"Hey, buddy." John said, looking at him.

"Hi." Mark said sleepily, pulling Ducky to his face to chew on a foot. He looked at John then at the groceries with interest. He pushed the covers off his feet and twisted himself over them, crawling toward his brother and the food, "I'm hungry."

"I know." John said, laying out all the food he bought, "Where do you think I went this morning?"

Mark shrugged, still chewing on Ducky.

John opened the milk carton and handed it Mark, ordering him to eat it. His brother did and watched as John opened the plastic cup of fruit and the package of bread. Mark knew he couldn't eat anything else until the milk was finished and he did quickly, making a mess of himself, but he finished. John pulled out a few tissues in his jacket to wipe up his brother while handing Mark the fruit cup. He finished that quickly too.

"Damn, kid, you're going to eat me 'till I'm poor." John said with a smile. Mark smiled back and handed his brother cup back, wiping his face with the back of hand, "Full?"

Mark nodded his head, found Ducky again and fell back on the bed, yawning again, "Can I have dinner, too?"

John paused, about to put the pastry in his pocket. He bit the inside of his mouth and then placed the pastry high on his desk, where Mark couldn't reach it along with the bread. "Yeah, of course, I even got desert. Okay. What are the rules?"

"No leaving the room." Mark said, staring at him.

"Right, and?"

"Stay quiet."

"What else?"

"Hmm..." Mark said, thinking, "play with Ducky? But what if I have to go to the bathroom?"

John hesitated, "That's the only thing you're allowed to do outside this room. 'Kay?"

Mark nodded solemnly.

"Yeah, good kid." John said, feeling relieved. He reached over for his brother and tickled him who giggled and struggled silently away. John kissed him on the forehead and said, "Love you."

"Love you." Mark replied, humming 'Mary Had a Little Lamb' and making Ducky dance on his stomach.

John watched him for a minute, before opening his window and squirmed through it. He pushed to the window closed and pushed it tight so Mark wouldn't have the strength to push it back up. He hated leaving his brother alone and he cursed everything around him.

When he arrived at school, John had already smoked his last three cigarettes. He wanted to stop. He had to stop...he should stop. He walked slowly and without purpose through the school grounds, glaring at anyone who dared to to even look at him. He smiled inwardly as the whispers continued behind his back. Threats but he doubted anyone would act on them. Not without a posse anyway. That happened often, especially when he instigated it. He knew he was an idiot, but he was also a fuck up. It went with the territory.

He squinted toward the entrance, something familiar catching his attention. Smirking, he followed her into the school from a fair distance, watching and waiting. He watched her shrug her friend off and then followed her to her locker. The hallways were almost deserted as he walked and leaned against the wall behind her. He looked at her, drinking her in and anticipating the look she'll give him when she realises he's right behind her.

* * *

"Brian! Brian!"

"Yes, Mom?"

"You've left your homework on the table! How many times have I told you not to do that? Move it! Now! Before you lose it!"

Brian ran down the stairs with his backpack on his shoulders, before his mother could yell anymore. He quickly made his way to the table and wrenched open his backpack, stuffing his books and papers inside.

"There's no need to throw a tantrum, Brian." His mother said from the kitchen, "If you would have listened in the first place, then I wouldn't have to tell you about these books."

Brian looked at her, "I'm not throwing a tantrum."

"Don't talk back, Brian." was his mother replied.

Brian sighed, frustrated and concentrated on the organisation of his backpack, anything to keep his mind off his demanding mother.

"Brian...?"

"What, Mary?" Brian said to his sister who was quietly eating cereal in front of him.

"Are you going to be late for school?"

"How should I know, Mary?"

"Brian, stop with that attitude." His mother said, glaring at him, wiping her hands on her trousers. Brian didn't say anything and she seemed satisfied, "Are you ready?"

"I've been ready." Briant muttered.

"What did you say?"

"Yes." Brian said, turned on his heel and walked out the front door, Mary close behind.

His mother, Mary, and Brian were seated in the front of the car. Brian was staring out the window, trying to ignore everything his mother was saying. Her screeching voice was penetrating his ears, and it was difficult to filter her out. She was a constant on his brain and the only thing that even gave him the slightest relief was school. But just slight.

"...that grade up in class. I don't care if it's shop class, art class, or gym. If your final grade is anything lower than an 'A' your' G.P.A will lower and then what are you going to do? You know that, at least I hope you know that. Right, Brian? You cannot lose any of your scholarships. You don't have that much time any more and I don't appreciate you slacking off, just because your high school days are nearly over. And it does not look goo that you just had your first detention. Detention, Brian! Of all the things - Brian? Brian? Are you even listening to me? Brian!"

The car had finally stopped in front of the school, and Brian took that opportunity to open the car door and tumble out, not bothering to close the car door behind him. He could still hear his mother calling to him, but he didn't care and didn't bother turning back. He walked onto the lawn of the school, a sea of faces in the front of the school, waiting for the first day of the week to start. He didn't know whether his mother had left yet, and he didn't really care. He opened the doors to the school and walked straight to his locker. Before he could open it, he felt someone slam him into the lockers. He looked over his shoulder noticing the usual bullies. They gave him the middle finger and laughed at him, daring him to do something.

Brian worked his jaw and tried opening his locker, hesitantly looking around him to make sure no one else was going to push him maliciously. He pulled out his math and science books and stuffed them into his bag before closing it with a slam. He walked down the hall to his first class. There was no one inside and he liked it that way. He pulled out a book and a piece of paper and started to study.

* * *

_Favourite character, so far?_


	2. Chapter 2

_I honestly hope that you can relate to one of these folks, or maybe all of them..._

_Cheers._

* * *

Allison was happy Andy went to look for her. She was absolutely elated that he took the time to touch her, look at her, even talk to her in public. He didn't seem afraid at all.

But she was afraid.

Allison was nervous. This attention he was giving her made her feel awkward and she didn't know what to do. She was staring up at Andy, not sure what her next move should be. She looked away from, not wanting Andy to see her face reddening and did the only thing she could do and cover her face. She felt something beside her and ever so slightly, moved her fingers from her eyes to look. Andy had crouched beside her and was smiling still, his blue eyes on her. Her breathing was erratic and she exhaled slowly. Allison watched as Andy reached for her arms with both hands and very gently pulled her to stand. She let him. Placing both her hands on her bag and pressing them tightly against her chest, she stood with him.

That's when she was noticing the stares. Strange stares from all the eyes around them and it was quiet. So quiet she could hear branches swaying against the slight breeze that was moving through her hair. She shuddered and swiftly reached for the hood of her jacket to cover her face. If she couldn't see them, they weren't there.

"Allison."

She jumped at the sound and turned her head to see Andy looking at her. _What,_ she wanted to say, she just couldn't get the words out.

He seemed to understand, though, and slowly moved a hand down her arm and into her palm. She stared at it, wondering what she should be doing right now.

"Let's go inside."

_I really, really, want to_, she tried to say, but nothing came out, so simply nodded. She placed the strap of her bag on her shoulder and gripped the hood of her jacket, biting her lower lip. It wasn't until Andy opened the door of the high school to let her in when she realised how very hard she was gripping Andy's hand. She quickly let go and reached for her bag's strap so that her arm was across her chest.

"Oh, shit..." Andy said, looking back outside, his face somewhat concerned. He looked back at her, his face softening, "What's your first class?"

Allison opened her mouth, then closed it, letting out a soft sigh. Communication was impossible.

"What is it?"

Allison looked at him quickly, then looked away.

"Come on." Andy said, taking her hand again and leading her away from prying eyes that she was completely aware of and apparently, so was Andy.

Andy walked her over down another hallway toward the back, closer to where the gymnasium was. He didn't quite go outside. The back double doors led to an area where stored chairs and desks were and a few broken computers and janitor brooms and mops. It was a bit darker here and colder. There was another set of doors leading outside, but Andy stopped walking and turned to look at Allison, dropping her hand.

"Better?"

Allison gave him a small smile and nodded her head slowly, looking at him and whispered, "Yeah."

Andy gave her another killer smile and slowly reached for her hood to push it away from Allison's face, "There's no reason to hide. Not with me."

Allison pretended to ignore this although it made her heart flutter. She looked around the room she was in and raised an eyebrow, "Do you bring all your girls here, sport-o? Or just the vulnerable ones?"

Andy shrugged looking slightly nervous and not quite meeting her eye. Allison bit her bottom lip and giggled silently. Andy looked at her in the corner of his eye then reached for her arms. Allison nearly resisted the touch, almost instinctively, not sure what to expect. It took her a split second before she allowed Andy to pull her closer to him as he backed into one of the broken desks. He placed his strong arms around her and squeezed. She tensed, not enjoying how it felt at first, but she forced herself to relax, remembering Hashimoto and his advice. For the first time, she listened to her shrink. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, aware of Andy's warm breath on her neck. She swallowed and hesitantly lifted her arms and awkwardly patted Andy on his back. She heard Andy chuckle.

"What?" Allison said, feeling frustrated and dropping her arms. She was trying, damn it.

"Nothing." He replied, looking at her, his eyes twinkling.

"No, tell me. What did I do?" Allison, feeling embarrassed and irritated.

"You're...cute." He said, his face reddening, and he shrugged, trying to play it off, "'cause..I don't know..."

Allison smiled to herself, _very articulate_.

"Shut up." he replied softly, staring at her face, then looking away.

"I didn't know you were so shy...spor-. A-Andrew...Andy." Allison paused, playing the name in her mouth, deciding she liked how it sounded, "Andy."

He looked up at Allison, slightly surprised at her saying his name. He smiled ruefully then grinned at her, reaching for her. Allison swallowed having an idea about what he was to do. Her heart was beating fast and her breath was being taken away as she felt a large hand caressing her neck. She closed her eyes as she felt his touch, enjoying it against her skin. She felt a slight pressure and opened her eyes, his face closer to her. She resisted somewhat and he stopped, his eyebrows furrowing. She sighed and took her hands to gently play across his face. He had recently shaved and she felt his smooth skin under her palms. _Just do it_, she told herself.

She quickly leaned down and kissed him on the lips, surprising him and herself as their lips aggressively touched. She was hungry for more, she wanted more and so did Andy but she wasn't ready. Not yet. Without so much as a second glance, she let him go, backed up and nearly ran out of the room. She didn't stop running until she got to her appointment at the counsellor's.

* * *

Andy placed a hand to his head, panting slightly and feeling an incredible rush through his veins. He stood there silently, wondering what the hell just happened. _Fuck,_ he thought, _fuck._ He stared at the door Allison just left through, wondering if he should go after her. He glanced at his watch, but was unable to see the time. He reached for the light on the watch and saw he had maybe five minutes before class stared.

"Fuck!" he said.

He ran out the back doors and sprinted to where he believed his bag was, running through the employee parking lot and hopping over a particularly high fence. And he didn't get to finish his fucking homework! _Fuck!_ But he couldn't stop smiling. Allison was completely worth it. There it was, right where he left it. His bag was still on the floor, his friends from the wrestling team standing around it as if guarding it.

"Andy! What the hell happened?" A good friend of his, Paul, asked, noticing him as he arrived. Others also called his name when they saw him too, "Where the hell did you go? Why are you sweating? The hell's going on?"

"Nothin', nothin', man. Everything's cool." Andy said, trying to catch his breath as he placed his bag around his shoulders again.

"Okay." Paul said, concernedly, "You sure?"

"Yeah, man." Andy said, walking toward the school again as the bell rang. He looked at Paul who was obviously not believing him and said in a low voice, "Tell you later."

"What'd you do, fuck a girl, Andy?" said another on his team, the others except for himself and Paul laughed, Paul merely smirked.

"Fuck off, Will." Andy said good-naturedly, punching him in the shoulder.

"That's exactly what he did, Will." another said, Dan, as the mess of them walked through the grounds, the rest of the school parting for them to walk through as they were Moses leading the Jesuits.

It was the first time Andy actually noticed this behaviour. He turned to look behind him and watched the crowd giving them various looks; admiration, hate, fear. Andy furrowed his eyebrows as he stared back ahead, suddenly feeling ashamed of himself. He felt another punch on his arm and he looked up, his thoughts leaving him. It was Dan.

"Missed the party, Saturday."

"No kidding." Andy replied, not really caring, "Dad had me run for 15 miles as punishment for detention."

"That kid deserved it."

"What kid?" Andy said, looking at Will.

"Fucking dweeb, with the fucking...glasses."

"Great description, dumbass." Dan replied, looking at him, "That's half the fucking school."

"Shut up, fag." Will replied, angrily, angrily pushing someone out his way and knocking the papers they held in their hands on the floor, "You know who I'm talking about. The fucker Andy taped up."

Andy wasn't listening, his mind on the person behind them who was trying to pick up the mess of papers on the ground. He sighed softly himself, already about ten paces ahead of them. He looked back. It was another kid, one he never remembered seeing, but he was trying to place papers in his folders but no one else was bothering to help him either. Either stepping on his papers or walking around him.

Andy frowned and turned around, walking over to the kid. "Andy?" he heard someone call, but he ignored it. The kid looked up, saw who it was and jumped, placing a folder over his head as if shielding his face. Andy ignored this, dropped his bag and bent down to help pick up the papers.

"Hey!" Andy shouted. Everyone's head turned to look at him, but he was staring at someone who had just passed and walked directly on one of the paper's on the floor, leaving a very muddy shot print, "The hell you doing? If you see someone who's trying to pick up his shit, help him, asshole. Don't step on it."

Embarrassed, the student rushed away out of sight, not looking at anyone or anything. Andy quickly piled up the papers and folders and handed them to the kid who took everything from him, gingerly, unable to say anything.

"Mr. Clark!"

Andy turned his head, recognising where that voice had come from. "Sir."

"You shout in my hallway again, that's another detention, mister." Richard Vernon said, striding over to him and pointing a finger very close to his face. Andy imagined breaking his finger, "Is that understood? I don't give a damn who you are, Clark."

"Sir." Andy replied shortly.

"Get to class." Vernon ordered.

Andy growled softly, reached down for his bag. He shouldered the strap and turned on his heel, his friends waiting for him in the hall looking very surprised, Paul watching him, carefully. Andy was aware of the looks, but he ignored them as he walked past them toward his first class of the day.

* * *

"John." Claire swallowed as her back hit the lockers and the the echo of the locks reverberated against metal. She reached for her head, touching her hair, not entirely sure what to do with her hands.

"Claire." was his response, his coy half-smile making her chest feel painful. He was leaning against a window, his hands spread on the windowsill behind him as he watched her.

"What, uhm, what...are you doing here?" Claire said, closing her eyes briefly realising how very stupid that sounded.

"Uh, I go to school here." he said evenly. She saw his eyes slowly looking at her up and down and this made her feel so uncomfortable.

Claire sighed, pulling the bottom edge of her skirt as far down as she could and swallowed, "No, no, what I meant was, why are you here, standing here, by my locker...was what I meant." _Christ, she sounded like a babbling idiot!_

"Wanted to see you." He replied, walking away from the window and taking a few steps toward her and stopped, "Do I need your permission?"

Claire let out a nervous, breathy laugh, trying to hide how very jumpy she was feeling, "No, of course not. You could do whatever the hell you want..."

"Sounds like an invitation." John said softly now standing very closer to her. Claire could smell cigarettes on his clothing and looked up at him, nervously shifting the weight on her feet, "Could I really do whatever I wanted, princess?"

Claire didn't say anything looking away from him. Truthfully, he excited her but she wasn't about to tell him that. She didn't know what she wanted, but John wasn't far from her thoughts. She cleared her throat trying to change the subject, still not looking at him.

"I have to get to class." Claire finally said and turned away from him, but she didn't get very far.

John took a single step and stopped in front of her, his large frame blocking her path. She tried to move around him but he was making it difficult, side stepping her. She narrowed her eyes, made a face and turned around, intending to go the long way, but he reached for her arm and pulled her toward him so that her back was on his chest. He reached around and gave her a hug, one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulders. Claire tried to get out of his grip, be he merely squeezed harder. She shuddered when she felt him kiss her very softly on the back of her neck.

"Don't move." he said, sleepily.

"I have to get to class." Claire said, but not really caring as much as she should of, but she liked how he felt.

"Skip it."

"I can't do that, John." Claire said, turning around in his arms, looking up at him with a small smile, "I got detention for shopping. Can you imagine what would happen if Dick catches me with you?"

John smirked, "What would we be doin'?"

Claire made a face at him, "Don't be gross."

"I'm just asking a question." John said, looking at her innocently, "Get your head out of the gutter, sweets."

Claire frowned at him, "You're charming when you want to be, but I don't know you well enough."

"You can get to know me." John said softly, his face getting closer and Claire was staring at his lips, anticipating the feeling again, "I'm all yours."

"And all your other girlfriends?" Claire challenged him, speaking just as softly.

That made John pause and then he allowed a familiar smirk on his face she had fallen in love with and it made her absolutely giddy, "Well, we might just throw them out the window. Depends on what you have to offer. "

Claire sighed, not sure whether to frown or smile and settled with something in the middle, because she wasn't even sure if she actually could believe him. The hallways were starting to fill up as the first bell was close to ringing. Voices and laughter, complaints and shouts from different students were echoing through the halls. Claire swallowed, her eyes looking out and watching the people in the hall. She was nervous again, but this was a different sort of nervous. The kind where people would notice she was talking to someone she wasn't supposed to be talking to.

John noticed. He turned his head around, following her eyes, when he looked back at her, he did not look happy. Claire watched him straighten up and place his arms across his chest. She wasn't sure what to say but knew she had just become rather ashamed of herself. She felt tears welling up in her eyes as she watched his face getting darker, his eyes becoming narrower. Suddenly, he had a rather nasty smile on his face.

"I get it, Cherry." He said out loud, calling her a name she absolutely hated. She widened her eyes at the tone of his voice and heads turned in their direction and whispers started almost immediately. John back off, his hands in the air, nothing happy in his eyes, "I'll leave you alone. Don't you worry about that."

John turned on his heels and stalked off, his heavy boots hitting the ground as he walked, people quickly moving out of his way. Claire closed her eyes briefly, before looking back at John's retreating back. _Shit_, she thought to herself as she sat on the windowsill, _Why the fuck did I do that?_ She wanted to call out to him, run to him, just find him, but she didn't move from her spot, the smell of John was fading quickly, his touch was already gone. _Shit._

"Claire!" She sighed, not wanting this right now, "Claire?"

She looked up to see Steph again, standing in front of her with her arms across her chest, looking a bit cross. Nicole and Marcia was already in tow, looking just as annoyed and the other gave her a small smile. Claire felt annoyed just by looking at them and didn't bother hiding it, either. She just wasn't in the mood.

"What's wrong with you?" Steph asked placing her hands on her hips, "I've been calling you, why didn't you answer me?"

"Leave her alone, Steph," Marcia said, sitting beside Claire and looking at her, "she's obviously upset."

"How the hell am I supposed to know, for fuck's sake?" Steph replied.

"You didn't." Nicole said making a face, "You can't read minds."

"What's wrong, Claire?" Marcia asked, placing a hand on hers, "You can tell us."

"I'm bored of this." Nicole said, sighing irritably as the first bell rang, "Claire's bringing the mood down. Let's go."

With that, she turned, Steph following beside her, but Marcia didn't leave.

"Come on, Claire." Marcia said trying to sound happier and stood in front of her, "We have the history presentations today. Are you ready?"

Claire looked up at her, nodded numbly and allowed Marcia to lead her to first period. They took their seats in the front and sat, waiting for the teacher to call roll. She never felt so low. Not when her brother moved out, not when her mother started drinking, not even when her father admitted to his affair. She felt dirty and angry and annoyed.

As if struck by lightening, Claire straightened up in her chair, finally making a decision. Her own decision. She stood up and to everyone's great surprise, she strode across the classroom reached for the handle of the classroom door and walked out.

* * *

John was skipping class. He had made his way to the back of the school and was walking swiftly to the bleachers outside by the football field. He walked up as high as he could, facing the direction of his house and wondered whether he should get back. His immediate thought was Mark, but he was okay. John fucking hoped the kid was. He smiled softly to himself as he remembered his baby brother's face light up when he saw food.

John frowned, wondering why the fuck he lived in a household where there was fucking kid who couldn't fucking take care of himself and why the world expected his god damn fucking bastard parents to take care of the kid, anyway. John could feel his chest heaving and his temper rising the more he thought about it. He'd kill for a cigarette right about now. Or four.

"_Fuck!_" he screamed suddenly, his temper getting the better of him, "_Shitdamnmotherfuckergoddamnedfucking_...fucking...asshole. Shit...ugh..."

That felt good, even if it was only temporary. It was just an excuse, though. He was trying to keep his mind off Claire by just thinking about anything that would involve all of his time, but there was no stopping his thoughts and it was driving him crazy and this angered him. He tried to rationalise that he was sick, not thinking straight because there was a cold. His sinuses were acting up, right? He sniffed.

No.

He sat back against the bleachers and crossed his arms, letting it go and allowing his thoughts to revolve around Claire, like every-fucking-thing out there, this was another thing she had wrapped around her long, thin, white...finger. He made a face, wondering how the hell she managed to get inside his head so fast. At first, he thought it as because he was stuck in the library with her for so long, but there were fucking four others there too.

_But_, John said to himself, _she was the one you picked on, that you loved seeing riled. You enjoyed the crinkle between her eyebrows when she frowned. _

_I made her cry._

_I did._

_Did I enjoy it?_

_No. I hated it._

_"Fuck!"_ John yelled again.

"John."

He turned his head quickly to see Claire standing just a few feet away from him. He was wrapped in own thoughts so deeply he didn't even noticed anyone close by. He felt his temper rising again, just by looking at her but he inhaled deeply and exhaled, feeling frustrated as he rubbed the back of his head animatedly.

"The fuck you want, Cherry?" he finally said, leaning forward in his seat.

"I-I wanted to apologise, is all." Claire said, her hands rubbing her arms up and down. She was cold and and John was resisting the urge to giver her his coat; but it was difficult, "I'm so sorry I did that to you. I'm an idiot and I know that, now."

John leaned back in the bleachers and frowned at her, "You think I give a damn about what you are? Huh? _Princess_? Get off your fucking high horse. No one here cares."

He turned his head but he knew he made her cry. He hated himself for it, but he also told himself he'd get over it. She was being shitty, she knew better and she still didn't bother to change. Whatever the consequences, they were on her. Right? For. Fucking. Sure.

"No, John, I don't think you give a damn, but it's the truth." Claire said. John turned his head, regretting it. Those fucking eyes, that fucking face. She was wiping away tears that were running down her face, "I mean, I just walked out of a classroom for you! There's a presentation on the Holocaust that was due today that I've been working on _for_ _weeks_. I'm going to get an 'F' on it, I just know it because Mr. Wrinkler hates me and will probably give me detention because I walked out on him. And if Vernon catches me away from class, he'll probably give me detention as well, then I'll have two detentions and I'll-"

John raised his eyebrows at her as she placed a hand on her mouth and continued speaking more to herself though, "Brian was right. I am conceited...I talk way too much and when I do talk it's always about me."

He looked at her longer but didn't say anything, he wasn't sure what to say. Before he could get a chance, Claire turned around and started walking down the bleachers. John watched her for a minute before growling under his breath. He stood up and ran down the bleachers after her.

Claire had heard his heavy shoes hitting the aluminium and was waiting for him by the grass, her face hopeful and sad. John didn't say anything as he walked over to her, wondering if what he was about to was really a good thing. He was a fuck-up in everything he did but the last thing he wanted was to fuck up the plans he's played out in his head for too long, all of them for Mark. Fuck shit if he was leaving his baby brother with his good-for-nothing parents.

Claire spoke, "I understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore. I just found out something out about myself and this feeling is...this feeling, I don't know if I can-"

"Shut up." John said, placing his hands on the sides of her face. She did as she bought her bottom lip, tears falling down her face. John swallowed, wiping the tears off her face with his thumbs. He let out a sigh slowly placing a hand behind her head and another on her back to pull her forward into him, their lips finally together.

He felt Claire resist a bit, but it was only a second before she allowed him to kiss her as much as he wanted. He smiled softly to himself at how hesitant she was at first, but soon a more passionate connection occurred during three, four, too many to count, kisses.

* * *

It was lunchtime and Brian managed to get pushed, shoved, kicked, punched, smacked, and tripped all in the matter of four hours. He didn't get his lunch stolen, but he's pretty sure the sandwich his mother made was flat. Sighing, her walked into the cafeteria and sat at his usual lunch-table, close to the back emergency doors and the perpetuating fan where no one ever found its location. Not only did it make it cold at that table, but the fan propelled a funky smell in their direction.

Already sitting at the table was Larry, move his weight restlessly on his seat, trying to get as comfortable as he could. Sitting across from him was Teagan, whose mother really wanted a girl but got a boy instead. Teagen's mother didn't bother changing it because she got "too attached". Beside Brian was Deborah, a girl, who unfortunately shared a name with a particularly nasty other student and had quite a few classes with her. Brian took a seat beside Larry and greeted them all.

"Hey Larry, Tea. Deb."

"I go by Teag, now." Teag said, giving him a nod in greeting, and pushing his thick glasses up his nose, "I'd rather not sound like a warm beverage that the English drink every morning, but funnily enough, more and more English citizens have been turning to coffee over tea, an interesting factoid."

"Hey, man." Deb replied, giving him a smile after giving Teag a strange look. Brian had a massive crush on this girl. No only was she attractive but she was really intelligent and _chose_ to sit with the dweebs. In fact, the others probably had a crush on her as well, but no one ever thought they would ever have a chance.

Brian nodded his head at Teag, that was interesting, he thought, as he pulled out his lunch from his paper bag. He pulled out a thermos, an apple juice-box, and yes, his sandwich was indeed quite flat. He sighed to himself as he stared at it, wondering why he even bothered. He looked over at Teag's food. It was from the cafeteria and it looked a lot more appetising, even if he didn't know what it was. His eyes looked over at Larry's lunch - grapefruit. Larry's mother was trying to make him loose weight. Deb was drinking water and reaching into a bag of crisps.

"You change your name every week, _Teag._" Deb said to him, gulping water, "Just live with it. Your mother named you after a girl. Be proud of that fact. Not many people get this opportunity."

"And as a male, when the hell would this ever be an advantage?"

Deb thought for a minute then, "Scholarships, surveys, interviews, phone sex."

"Anyone have sugar?" Larry asked them.

"There's some up there." Teag said, digging into his yellow..corn? He continued talking with his mouth full, Brian made a face, "In the line. What?"

"Nah." Larry said, putting his spoon down, "I just won't eat."

"I'll get it, Larry." Deb said, standing and picking up her trash, "I need to find Jay, anyway. Just a minute."

"Here." Brian said, handing over his sandwich and laying his head on his arms, thinking about Deb and fucking _Jay,_ "I'm not hungry."

"What's wrong, Brian?" Larry asked him, already finished with half the sandwich, "Is it Deb?"

"Nothing, just...nothing." Brian mumbled. Yes.

"Is it your mother again?" Teag asked, looking over his glasses, "I doubt she'll ever lay off you until you move out on your own, but that won't happen until you get a job, but even then, you'll have to juggle a job, scholarships, and school. Not to mention all these clubs. Way too much pressure if you ask me."

"I didn't ask you...Teag." Brians said looking at him.

"Sorry, my intention wasn't to offend you." Teag replied, looking somewhat hurt.

"It's cool, Teag, just...don't want to talk about it."

"Can I have your juice-box, Brian?" Larry asked, looking at him then the box.

"Take anything you want, Larry." Brian said, his eyes now focused on the door of the cafeteria.

He had already looked at the different faces in the cafeteria, already sitting down at their usual tables. The jocks or sports chose an area close to the food line, and the richies were sitting beside them. He didn't spot either Andy or Claire. He took this as a good sign, but his optimism never really lasted long with him, but he tried. His eyes rover over toward the other exit where the rejects, the burners, sat but Bender wasn't there either. He felt more hopeful though. The three people he had met just a few days ago were no where to be found. _But_, he told himself, _my eyes might have just missed them. Brain usually tells you want you want to find, thus providing a much more difficult time in focusing on the object desired. _Brian shrugged, trying to ignore the musings in his head.

He spotted Allison first. She was walking slowly, her face half-covered in the hood. Brian raised his arm and waved to greet her, but she didn't seem to see. He even tried calling her, with the intention of shouting, but he didn't. The last thing he wanted was attention and suddenly feeling embarrassed, he lowered his arms, too.

"Who are you waving to?" Larry asked him.

"Al-Allison." Brian stated, still keeping his eyes on the girl. She had not made it all the way into the cafeteria and seemed to be waiting for something and looked really nervous. Brian wondered if he should just walk up to her and say hi. Should he?

"Who is Allison?" Teag asked, looking around, "Brian? Brian."

Brian decided. He stood up from his seat and walked across the cafeteria, aware of the eyes that were on him. Giving the sports table a very wide berth, he went the long way around to reach Allison, who seemed much more interested in leaving now. She was slowly backing away from the cafeteria, not finding what she was looking for.

"He-y, hey, Allison.." Brian stammered, walking closer to her, he tapped her on the shoulder, "A-allison."

Allison turned her head quickly, her face pale and scared when she saw Brian. She let out a sigh, looking relieved. She gave Brian a small smile and almost whispered, "Brian. Hi."

"Sit with us." Brian said to her, nodding his head behind him.

"Okay." Allison whispered and followed Brian back toward his table.

Deb was already sitting at the table and listening to a heated discussion between Larry and Teag. Brian arrived and took his seat beside Larry again, then watched as Allison hesitantly pulled out a chair and sat in it, slowly, her knees against her chest.

"Hi." Deb said, looking curiously between Brian and then Allison again, "I'm Deb, that's Larry over there and Teagan, oh sorry Tea, no fuck, what was it again?"

Allison gave Deb a small, shy smile, while Brian turned his attention to the argument the other two were talking about.

"...in order to be happy. Everyone is selfish because there is always an ultimate goal. There is no such thing as Altruism."

"Yeah, there is. If I gave you food because you were damn hungry without any intention of expecting anything back, that's being Alturistic."

"So, you've decided to make yourself feel better by giving me food. You decided that it's your _morality _goals to give a starving man food. Sounds selfish to me."

"It isn't if I want to feed you."

"Sure, it is." Larry explained, looking at him over his glasses, "You are like normal people, living by morals that have helped you make decisions for most of your life, missing out on a lot of opportunities most are probably unaware of. Those who don't follow these 'rules' abide by nothing and therefore have no barriers to perception in decision-making. Take the jocks for instance, here they have power and make their own rules, so they can do whatever they want."

"This is what you guys do during lunch?" Allison asked Brian with a funny smile on her face as the other two continued arguing.

"Pretty much." Brian said. He paused, looking at her, "T-thanks for coming and sitting with us. Wasn't sure...if..I should...you know, hope."

Allison looked at him before shrugging her shoulders and said softly, "I think it'll be okay. I was hoping you would be here. I wanted to tell you...Andy found me this morning."

Brian sat up straighter, "Really?"

Allison nodded slowly and looked very shy as her face reddened. She fingered the matted fur around the hood of her jacket, "Yeah."

Brian laughed, "Cool."

* * *

_Whoo, okay. Wrote two chapters in two days. Need a break. Not too long, though, I'm excited to write more.  
Please, tell me your thoughts!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Trying to keep the stories consistently placed so that it's possible for you, the reader, to jump around to different sections if that's what you prefer. I hope you find that to be a sound idea. :P_

* * *

"Hi, Allison. Glad you could make it back on such short notice."

She didn't reply, just stared at the councillor, waiting for him to get to the point.

Hashimoto seemed to understand and gave her a small smile before reaching for a piece of paper that was sitting silently in front of him, a shiny black pen beside it. Allison decided she was going to take it before she left; he wasn't using it. She vaguely wondered if she was a magpie in a past life. She watched her shrink pick up the paper, skim through it and fold it, placing it in an envelope, but he didn't seal it before handing to her.

Allison reached for it slowly, wondering what it was about. She stared at it, fingering the corners trying to decipher what was inside the envelope. She held it to the light trying to peer through the paper. Hesitantly, she placed a finger under the unopened seal, giving a sidelong glance at Hashimoto.

"Before you open that, Allison, can you please listen to me, first?"

Allison narrowed her eyes wondering if he had some sort of trick up his sleeve. It wasn't usual with him, but one could never know what someone could be up to, especially to someone she was forced to talk to every week. And he was free. What good is a free shrink? About shit. Then her chest dropped as her worries took over. What if this was a letter saying she couldn't graduate because she was too fucked up in the head, or make her retake tests that make her miss classes, her grades drop, she fails, and she'll be forced to live with her parents-

"Allison, it's not that." Hashimoto said, who was watching her carefully. Allison looked up, feeling taken aback, "It's nothing for you to worry about. You're not failing and you won't get held back. Promise."

Allison inhaled deeply and exhaled, pushing her hair out of her face and feeling tears in her eyes, but they were more for relief than anything else. She had to calm down. Her heart was pumping quickly and her chest was heaving. Damn it. She was close to hyperventilating and she didn't even realise it. And damn him for knowing what was going through her mind.

"It's just a list. A list of names; doctors. Shrinks." Hashimoto replied, stepping around his desk to sit on the corner. He folded his hands in front of him and looked at her, "You're going to be leaving this school soon and...I think...it might be a good idea for you to look for one."

Allison frowned staring at the envelope. She didn't know what to say.

Hashimoto continued, "Just meet them, talk to them. I know a lot of the people on that list, people I trust, and I can recommend a few. Some owe me favours and I can call them up and get you a free session, one full hour. If you want, more."

Allison felt tears running down her cheeks. She wasn't sure why she was even crying, but she felt afraid and nervous. The last thing she wanted was for things to change because she couldn't even control those changes; she didn't want to be labelled. She placed a hand to her face and tried to hide behind it, embarrassed and anxious as her leg pumped up and down.

Hashimoto moved from his desk and crouched down beside her so that his head was level with hers. Allison, in all truthfulness, liked him. He had a kind face and he never lost his temper, even when she stole things from him, lied about her feelings, drew unnervingly realistic and gruesome drawings of him and everyone at the school, and threatening him, herself, and her parents. Hashimoto was able to see through everything she did. His jokes were lame, but she didn't mind. Allison remembered them.

"Talk to me." He said, softly, "What's wrong?"

Allison didn't answer right away, but he was patient and sometimes she hated it. She remembered for a few years back, she stubbornly refused to say anything to him at all for about two weeks straight, but he never questioned or asked, he just waited. It took until she lost her temper that Allison finally screamed at him to get the fuck off her back. That's what started dialogue.

Allison muttered behind her hair and under her hood.

"I didn't get that, Allison. I'm sorry, can you repeat it, please?"

Allison sighed angrily and blew the hair off her face, forcefully pushing her hood down to look at him. She crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair, "I don't want a new one."

Hashimoto stood, placing his hands in his trouser pockets, "They're better equipped for talking than I am, Allison."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Allison said, staring up at him, feeling upset.

"Well," he continued, leaning back on his desk and looking thoughtful, "instead of having a workload of 867 students and faculty members to look over every few weeks, they usually have just ten cases for about six months. More time for you. Besides, you know I'm not allowed to see people outside the student body."

"We're talking just _fine_." Allison told him with narrowed eyes, her words slow and poignant.

"We are, and I enjoy our talks." He agreed nodding at her with a small, sad, smile before turning back to sit behind his back. Hashimoto sighed, "But, Allison, you've been coming in here for over three years and nothing seems to be changing. I'm about as professional as my degrees tell me I am, but if nothing has progressed then _I'm_ doing something wrong."

"You just-you just told me this morning, that I-" Alison stammered, thinking back to the session she had with him during first period. After she had seen Andrew. She took in a deep breath, "You told me this morning that I seemed happier than you'd ever seen me."

"I did, yes." Hashimoto agreed.

"Then, what-what are you talking about?" Allison said, gripping her bag and twisting the strap, her anxiety level rising, "I'm doing just fine..."

Hashimoto had placed a fist on his chin, clearly thinking as he watched her. Allison didn't like the way he was studying her and hurriedly placed her hood over her face.

"Something happened to you, Allison, something that made you very happy. This morning." Hashimoto finally said, his hand still on his chin, "And that's a good thing. It's something you haven't felt in a long time, probably forgotten what it was like. Whoever did, whatever did, try to open up to it. Little at a time. You've heard this before, but jut one more time, learn to trust again."

Allison hesitated, then nodded before standing up from the chair to leave, still hiding her face.

"Before you go, Allison." She turned her head and body, only peeking out from her jacket, "Just a word of advice. Be careful. There will always be good times, but there will always be bad ones, too. Choose the ones that make you happy, just...be ready to face consequences. And...here."

Allison looked at him, then at what he had in his hand; it was the shiny black pen. She blinked then looked at him again.

He smiled at her, "I saw you looking at it. I'd rather I give it to you, than you steal it."

Allison bit her lower lip before reaching it and running out of the room.

"You're welcome." Hashimoto called, amused.

* * *

"Clark! What are you doin'? Stop slacking off and pick your feet up! Go! Go! Go! Winters! You do that again, you'll be kissing the floor before I'm done with you, now move it!"

Two whistles.

"Damn it, O'Mally, you do that, you're going to break your wrist! Christ, what the hell is wrong with you kids today?"

Andy was breathing hard as he did his quick sprints. He was tired. His sweat was running down his face and his legs were burning but he was also distracted. Normally, he didn't really have a hard time focusing on his next move, what to anticipate, how much he could push himself but right now his thoughts were all over the place and coach was losing his temper. He narrowed his eyes, forcing himself to focus on the next step of his foot, where his momentum should be, how swiftly his arms should pump.

"Duggan! Clark! Ahhh, for the love of...ugh. Wait, don't move 'em."

Andy was on the floor, breathing hard, not entirely sure how he got there. It was dark and he could hear voices around him, echoing through his ears. It wasn't until then he felt a sharp pain move up his leg, through his hip, up his chest and it exploded throughout his entire body. Just as quickly, the pain moved back down his leg to his foot and it stayed there. He cursed through his teeth as he sat up, reaching for his ankle, squeezing it, trying to relieve some sort of pressure from it. It hurt.

"Okay, okay, Clark, stop, we're going to get you up here." Andy felt his arm being pulled over Coach Nease's shoulders, his eyes now closed because of the pain, his teeth still barred, "Winters, grab his other arm, we're going to the benches. Duggan, you okay?"

"Yeah, Coach." Duggan said a few feet away, "How's Andy?"

"Dunno." Nease said, glancing at Andy, "Do me a favour and grab the first aid kit in my office."

Andy placed his foot down, but the moment it touched the floor, the pain intensified making him curse again.

"You're going to have to hop, Clark, c'mon." Nease said, leading Andy to the benches that seemed like a mile away.

When andy finally sat, he let out a sigh of relief that he didn't have to stand any longer. He could feel the blood pumping around his ankle and he could feel his ankle swelling, pushing out of his sneakers. He stared at his ankle. That wasn't going to heal anytime soon. _Dad's going to kill me_, he kept thinking in his head. He reached down to pull off the laces, _Dad is going to kill me._

"Alright, lift it up, Clark, on the benches. There you go." Nease said, crouched beside Andy's now free foot. It was swelling badly. Purple and blue was already the dominating colour, "Ahh, shit. Can you move it?"

Andy did. Very little. That gave off some relief, but not enough and he sighed, swallowing, "Dad's going to kill me."

Nease stared at him, but chose not to say anything, "What about your toes, can you move those?"

Andy did.

"Alright, uhm, hey, Morris, Gentry?"

"Yeah, Coach?" Morris asked, giving Andy a nod and looking at Nease, Gentry beside him.

"Go get the crutches from my office and find out why the hell Duggan is taking so damn long. Gentry, get a bag of ice. Hurry up. The rest of you, get back to practice. Now."

When everyone had left, Nease turned to Andy, "You're probably going to have to stay off your foot for a few weeks. Might want to go to a doctor, too. Looks nasty."

Andy sighed, suddenly feeling a massive amount of weight on his shoulders, "There's a meet on Saturday..."

"Which you won't be part of." Nease said, looking at him. Andy shifted his weight nervously. He knew Nease was disappointed, he was disappointed in himself and he knew his father was going to be disappointed. _Dad. Is going to. Kill me,_ "Sorry, Clark, but you gotta sit this one out. 'Kay? You want me to call your father?"

Andy looked down at his hands that were on his lap, then his ankle and shook his head.

"You're a bit distracted today." Nease commented, looking at him, slightly worriedly, "Everything okay here at school? At home?"

Andy nodded, not looking at him.

Nease sighed as he stood, "Alright, well, once Duggan, Gentry, and Morris get back, we're going to wrap up your foot and cover it in ice. Use the crutches and get some rest." He paused, then, "If you need me to talk to you dad, I will. Just say the word."

Andy watch him turn and leave to look after his other teammates. He felt pathetic and stupid. Why the hell didn't he notice where the hell he was going? What the hell was he thinking? He reached over for his ankle and tried to leave more of the pain by squeezing it, but it was only temporary. When he squeezed at his ankle, the lower part of his leg would feel bruised. He was running out of hands. Allison. It hit him so suddenly. That's what he was thinking about. He frowned, his eyebrows growing narrower as he fumed, silently.

"Here, you go, Andy. Sorry it took so long." Duggan said, running over to him and handing him the first aid kit, Morris not far behind. Duggan sat beside him and took a sidelong glance at Nease, "I found a list of Universities on Nease's desk. I think they might be recruiters."

Andy's felt his stomach twist as he heard this.

"You think they'll be there Saturday?" Morris asked, leaning the crutches on the other side of Andy's foot.

"Could be." Duggan said, looking at Andy, "Don't worry, Clark. You'll be okay. You're one of the best on the team. Hell, if they take Morris, you'll be a shoe-in."

"Fuck off, Duggan."

"Make me, asshole."

A whistle. Nease yelled, "Hey! Get back to practice you two, and stop clowning around. Both of you have a lot of work to do before Saturday. Move it!"

Andy watched them leave before slowly reaching for the first aid kit and opening up the plastic box. Inside were alcohol pads, bandaids, and a few cotton wraps. He pulled one of them out and slowly bend his knee to reach his ankle easier. He winced as gravity forced his blood to fall. He could everything going on in his foot and the pain wasn't going away. His thoughts lingered on his foot for awhile before turning back to his father, knowing full well how the reaction was going to be.

_"What the hell did you do to your foot, Andrew?"_

_"I don't know."_

_"You don't know? How could you not know? it happened to you, didn't it?"_

_Andy would shrug._

_"Don't shrug your shoulders. God, how could you do this to yourself? Did you **forget** about Saturday? No? Well, that's what it looks like to me. Why do you do this, huh? Where is your head? How are you going go to college? I sure as hell ain't paying for it. You need to get your act together, Andrew, or so help me."_

"Here, Andy."

Andy looked up and saw Gentry handing him a bag of ice. He took it and saw his fellow teammate joining the others who were now pulling out mats to practice strategies. Andy really wished he was there with them. He turned back to his ankle, feeling angry and ashamed. He had finished tightly wrapping his foot and slowly spread his leg, slowly rotating his foot at the ankle, already feeling the stiffness. He leaned back, his thoughts retreating back to Allison. He made a fist with his hand, his pain forgotten momentarily.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

* * *

Claire did not get an 'F', nor did she get detention, either. She had the good sense in stopping John (and herself) from getting too physical before she realised that she needed to get back into school. One, because, damn it, John and his constant sexual innuendos made her feel nervous and two, she didn't know if she could trust him. Claire didn't even know if they were together. John telling her of his multiple girlfriends on the side was not something she would appreciate and it weighed on her mind. His kisses were amazing, though. _Stop it, Claire._

She felt the pit of her stomach collapse in anticipating the worst scenario she could imagine as she made her way back into Wrinkler's class who demanded an explanation. To Claire's great surprise, Steph spoke up saying that Claire had been sick that morning and she was having problems all morning. What surprised her even more was what crotchety, bi-speckled Wrinkler told her after class.

"I understand you're sick, Ms. Standish, but I would appreciate it if you had raised your hand and explained the situation instead of just walking out of my classroom, willy-nilly."

Mr. Wrinkler was at his desk, a pile of books stashed neatly beside his right elbow and graded papers stacked neatly against his left. He had three pens placed in row behind his nameplate, all facing the same direction. He had two pencils right below the pens, sharpened to a neat point. Claire was standing nervously on the other side, fingering the strap of her bag.

"Sorry, Mr. Wrinkler." Claire said, not believing her luck, but trying to look sorry without looking too relieved, indeed, "It won't happen again."

"It had better not." Her teacher replied, glaring at her before folding his hands together and leaned back of his chair, making it squeak, "Now, about your grade. I won't give you an 'F'. You do work hard, _most of the time." _

He pursed his lips together before continuing. Claire swallowed.

"So I will allow you to give your presentation next class. I doubt I need to remind you that I will be grading you harder than anyone else. Understand, Ms. Standish?"

Claire let out a sigh of relief, "Yes, yes, thank you, sir."

"Go, go." Mr. Wrinkler said under his breath sounding annoyed. He picked up a pen and book, opening it to a page he had saved.

"Thank you!" Claire said, running out the classroom and feeling better than she had been for most of that morning.

She moved swiftly to her locker, feeling very happy. She didn't hear people calling out her name in the halls or stopping to greet her, she was practically walking on clouds. So many good things happened that day, it had to be some sort of omen. She opened her locker and peered inside looking for her geometry textbook. Claire found it but paused, her fingers on the book. She licked her lips, then took a quick glance over her shoulder and sighed, seeing no one. She closed her eyes, suddenly feeling very silly. She wanted John to be there, but she had no idea where he went after she had left him to go inside. Feeling slightly put-out, Claire shrugged her shoulders of the thought and pulled out her books to replace them with ones she had in her bag. She saw her salad and felt her stomach rumble.

It was time for lunch and she was supposed to meet with Nicole at the cafeteria doors so they could go inside together. But...she didn't want to. Claire didn't feel like complaining about the people at the school, she didn't feel like talking about prom, or boys, or how pretty someone's new dress was or agree that the new birthday car daddy bought should have been a Porsche instead of a BMW. She frowned as she closed her locker door slowly. She suddenly realised she really didn't have any friends at all. All the feelings of exhilaration she had just a few moments before deflated in her like a balloon. With John, Claire had realised what sort of person she was like, the one person she wanted to avoid being like, but she made all the same decisions, all leading to unhappy circumstances. Suddenly, she realised she absolutely hated herself.

Claire felt tears in her eyes as she walked, not really paying attention to where she was going, but she didn't want to talk to anyone or see anyone she knew and she thought of the one place she would never see someone she could recognise. The library. Feeling more determined, Claire walked quickly down the halls and turned a corner. There it was. The last time she'd been in there was detention that past Saturday, but before that, she couldn't remember. Perfect.

She walked over to the heavy doors. A janitor was standing on a ladder, prying the door open so that he could place the screw in to keep the door ajar. Claire smiled to herself, remembering. She walked past the reception desk where Ms. Taggart was placing index cards away and eyed Claire suspiciously. Claire saw the desks in front of the odd statue she never understood. People looked up, noticing her, all of them recognising her. They all quickly put their heads down, trying to avoid eye contact. Claire didn't like that and felt somewhat shamed.

She sighed softly and continued walking, wondering if she should head upstairs. There was yellow caution tape in front of the first set of stairs she passed. She looked around trying to figure out why. Repair men on ladders were trying to fix the vent overhead and she let out a chuckle, shaking her head. John was lucky he didn't break anything. _He's so destructive_, she thought, continuing on. Claire walked through the shelves, mildly interested in the book titles, but she didn't stop until she saw a table by a window. It wasn't a big table and it looked comfortable and one other person was there, reading. A small love seat was beside a window and she thought it looked incredibly comfortable.

She walked over to the sofa and sat down. The other person looked up, a girl wearing glasses, her eyes opening wide at the sight of her. Claire smiled and was about to open her mouth and say a simple "hello" but the girl quickly stood up, hurriedly shoved her things into a backpack and practically ran away, looking back for just a second before nearly tripping on a small foot stool. Claire grimaced as the stool hit against the metal bookshelves, a loud racket sounding and giving the girl even more attention.

Claire looked away, not knowing how to react. She didn't know what to say or what to do but she knew the reason why the girl ran. Claire stared out the window, it was raining and it fit her mood perfectly. That girl was exactly the kind of person she would have made fun of. She wore a dress, something similar to a smock and the colour was the colour of faded jeans. A bright yellow shirt was under the smock. The girl also had thick glasses that made her eyes pop, braces, and acne all over her face. Her socks were different colours and her shoes were mis-matched and dirty as if they were the only pair-

_Shit! Shit! SHIT!_

Claire mentally slapped herself because she actually had to tell herself to stop pointing out everything that stood out about the girl. Even in her mind, she had already made mental notes that would make that girl a perfect target for her and her friends. She wouldn't even be surprised if that was a girl she'd already picked on before, the way she ran away, Claire probably did. _For fuck's sake, Claire!_ She thought, angry and hurt and ashamed. She suddenly didn't feel very hungry anymore.

"H-hey, Claire."

She looked up and saw Brian standing a small distance away from her, a small smile riding on his face. He looked unsure and awkward as he stood nervously looking at her. Claire was genuinely happy to see him though and gave him a wide smile.

"Brian."

"Yeah." He was so awkward, "This-this, uhm, this is the last place, I thought I'd see _you_ in..."

"I wanted to be alone." Claire said with a shrug and small smile. She motioned him over, "Come have a seat."'

Brian didn't move as he fingered the book in his hands nervously, "You-you don't want t-to be alone? Anymore?"

Claire shook her head.

Brian gave her another wider smile and took a seat on the couch across from her. They didn't say anything for a few seconds until Brian spoke up, "So, uhm, hey, I saw Allison. S-she sat with me. Well, me and my friends, Larry, that-that guy Andy taped together, another friend, Teagan, who is actually a boy, but his mom liked Taegan, I mean the name Teagan, we call him Teag now, and Deborah. That's a girl. A real one."

Claire giggled at Brian's rather timid way of talking, "Is your lunch first period?"

Brian nodded, "Yeah. It's too early. I'm never that hungry. Do you have lunch, now?"

"Yeah." Claire said, sighing and reaching into her bag. She placed her meal on the table, "I'm not hungry. Want it? It's a salad."

"Thanks." Brian said, leaning forward in his chair, "I gave my lunch to Larry."

"He ate all of it?" Claire asked, picturing what Brian had during detention.

"I didn't mind. His mom's trying to make him lose wait. But shouldn't it be his choice?" Brian said, digging into the salad with the fork Claire offered him, "I mean, Larry could stand to loose some, but diets don't work."

"They don't?" Claire said, surprised.

"Nope." Brian said, the fork in his mouth as he looked thoughtful. He removed the utensil and explained, "Diets are just temporary fixes. The body is used to a certain amount of food a day. If you suddenly change that, it'll just want more and if someone breaks their plan and they often will, they'll just gain back the weight, faster. Exercise is the best solution."

"Oh..." Claire said, then, "How do you know that?"

"I read." Brian said shrugging, wiping his mouth with a napkin, "I like to read. And source. I always source what I read in case what I read are lies. Everything in a book is not necessarily true."

Pause. "You know, you were right." Claire said, looking at him.

"Right about what?" Brian asked curiously as he closed the empty plastic container, and wiping the fork off with the napkin.

"Everything." Claire shrugged again, "Everything you said about me. I'm conceited and mean and just awful. It hurt when you said it, but it's true. I just found that out today. I hate myself. I hate what I've become. Just following in familiar footsteps, I guess."

"Well, I-I don't hate you." Brian said softly. Claire looked up at him, "I mean you were pretty mean before, but things might be different, now. Allison doesn't hate you either. She told me."

This made Claire happier. Slightly. She suddenly realised she had left Nicole by herself by the cafeteria. She wondered what sort of hell she was going to catch when she sees the girls again. She sighed, placing her hands to her forehead.

"I just want to stay in here."

"You're in my next class." Brian suddenly said. Claire looked at him. She didn't know that, "Geometry. Want to-to walk together? I mean-sorry, I didn't-"

"I'd like that, Brian." Claire said, reaching for her bag and pulling the strap over her shoulder. She smiled at his surprised but happy face, "Ready?"

* * *

"Bender. Come on, kid. Why do you do this?"

"Do what?" John said, innocently as he leaned against the basement wall, smoking a cigarette. It was almost done and he was trying to savour every puff. Maybe this will be the last one. John smiled to himself, yeah, whatever.

"Stop being foolish." Carl said, looking at him straight in the eye. He sighed irritably as he squeezed the dirty mop liquid into the sink, "Vernon's ass is already tighter than a bass drum and you're just making it worse. You're too smart for that. Why provoke him, huh?"

John narrowed his eyes, stubbing the last of his cigarette on the doorframe and flicking it into the nearest rubbish bin, "Vernon can eat my shorts, kiss my ass, and get run over by a bus. I would celebrate and make it a national fucking holiday."

"Don't you want to get out of this shit-hole, Bender?" Carl said, dropping the mop handle and turning off the water. He turned around to face him. John squared his jaw and crossed his arms. He didn't want to hear this, "That's what you called it, didn't you?"

"I'm passing." John retorted.

"Barely." Carl said. John didn't answer and looked away. Carl walked over to him and sighed, "Look, you're angry and the world, I get that. It's done you wrong and you think there's no way out. But there is a way out. You have a choice to make, Bender, but those changes start with you." Carly poked a finger in John's chest.

John furrowed his eyebrows looking at the janitor, "The hell you know anyway, _Carl?"_

Carl smirked and turned to face the sink again, "Hey, look at me. I made my own decisions and I'm also happy. How many people can say that out loud and really mean it?"

"I hate being here." John finally said, planting his fist into a locker and making a dent.

Carl raised his eyebrows at the locker but didn't say anything about it. He walked across the room and pulled out two chairs from a pile of extra ones that were sitting behind a few broken dusty desks and other pieces of furniture. He kicked one open and motioned John to sit in it and he opened his open to sit across from him. Carl pulled his keys out of his back pocket before he sat. John was looking at him expectantly. Honestly, he was waiting for some reassurance. Carl seemed to always know what was going on in his mind, when John was incredibly close to losing all hope in changing anything about himself, his home life. Carl just knew how to bring out of him. He didn't know what it was.

Carl leaned forward in his chair, "How's Mark?"

John blinked, then half-shrugged, half-nodded, "He's good."

"Happy?"

John raised an eyebrow, "Yeah, I think so."

Carl nodded, "You sure?"

"What's with these questions, Carl?" John said, feeling his temper rising again, "He's _fine_."

"Has he been eating?"

"Of course he's fucking eating!" John yelled, sitting on the edge of his seat, angry, "What's with the fucking third degree?"

Carl leaned back in his chair and spread his hands, "Just asking. Wondering why you're so willing to leave that kid to fend for himself."

"I wonder never do that. Ever!" John said, standing up so quickly, his chair fell behind him. His finger was on Carl who was not scared and this irritated John more, "I would never leave him alone in that fucking house, never!"

"I see. You care about him." Carl said, slowly getting to his feet and crossing his arms across his chest. He was about a head taller than John, but John wasn't a coward and stood his ground, "That's why you're here, right? That's why you drag your body out of bed every morning. That's why you work so many hours at that grody bar. All for him."

"That's fucking right." John said angrily and it finally hit him, his temper gone in a whiff. _Shit..._

Carl nodded and said softly, "Yeah. It's half the battle, but you need to go all the way, or not at all. Otherwise, what's the point? Make a choice, Bender."

John furrowed his eyebrows. Fucking Carl and his fucking words of wisdom. Why the fuck was he a janitor? He looked up to see Carl already grabbing his chair to replace back on the pile. John grabbed his, closed it and laid it against Carl's. The two of them didn't say anything for awhile, John's thoughts running a mile a minute.

"So." Carl said, pulling off his keys from around his neck and putting them in the locker John had just put a dent through. He unzipped the first half of his uniform and freed his arms. He took hold of the loose sleeves and tied them in front of himself, "Who was the girl I saw you with, this morning? I mean, the one your were swatting spit with, you understand?"

John felt smug and smirked, his tongue following the edge of his teeth, "She's-she's nothing." He knew he didn't really mean that.

Carl raised an eyebrow, obviously not believing him, "Uh-huh. Listen, I've seen kids around here smooch before, that was not a passing fling. I've seen her type before, Bender. You sure you know what you're doin'?"

John paused, leaning against the wall, "She's...different. Maybe."

"Right, they're all different." Carl said, amusingly, fixing the dent on the locker, before closing it with a slam, "Until you get to know them. I'm heading out. Leaving?"

"Yeah." John said, walking out the door before looking over his shoulder, "Gotta see Mark."

"See you, Bender."

"Carl."

John wandered outside, the grounds empty except for a few stragglers waiting for their parents or whatever. He reached into his pockets, searching and cursed silently. No smokes, damn. He should stop, anyway. He grimaced at that prospect and continued to walk on, almost jogging as he crossed through the lawn and onto the sidewalk across the street. He made a right and continued on. He needed to hurry and see Mark before he went to work. He was always worried when Mark wasn't around. John had no idea what he was doing, he didn't know if he was hurt. He didn't know anything about the kid during the day. He was a good kid, he listened and maybe he understand, John didn't know. He was pretty sure though, that if _anything_ happened to Mark, _anything_ at all, the first thing John would do was search for the perpetrator and kill him. He would take no chances with him.

He finally reached the house and his room. He peered through the window, but didn't see Mark anywhere. Forcing himself not to panic, he quickly opened the window and squeezed through, his feet landing lightly in the room. He looked around, wondering where the hell he was. That's when he noticed his door. It had been smashed open and was in splinters. A piece cheap of shit that had been replaced countless times by him with his fucking money. He felt his temper rising and reached for the handle, pulling the door off its hinges, the clatter of screws falling and hitting the dirty carpet. He's getting a steel door next.

"The fuck", he whispered, annoyed and threw the door on his bed. _Where the fuck is Mark?_

His mother across the way made a sleepy noise from her permanent spot on the bed, still in front of the television. He gave her a disgusted look but knew had awaken something else.

"John! Is that you, boy?"

John swallowed and readied himself for what was coming. He only called him "boy" when he was in a particularly dangerous mood. He head his father's heavy foot steps making their way toward his room from the living room. He could hear his mother stirring, now waking up from whatever drunken, drug-induced hell she was coming from.

"The fuck you been, John?" his father said, storming forward. He looked like an older John. Used to be handsome with strong features, but all the drugs he had taken over his life left him in an old body that made him look sixty when he was really only in his forties, "I asked you a question."

"Like you fucking care." John retorted, angrily, hissing, "Where is Mark?"

"What?" his father said, his eyes red with fire, his hands in fists.

"_Mark_, you son of a bitch!" John yelled, moving past his father and looking around the house and calling for him, "Your _son_, Mark! Where is he?!"

"Don't you fucking raise your voice to me, you poor excuse for a man." his father screamed, grabbing John by the collar and pulling him forward, "The fuck you talking back to me for, huh? You sorry son of a bitch. Who the hell do you think you are, huh?"

His father was using his free hand and slapping it on John's head hard, his face, using his ring especially for impact. He smiled as John did nothing, enjoying what he was doing and provoking him, "Pussy, huh? What is it? Fucking pussy? Is that what you are? What? Can't do anything back? Huh?"

John let out a growl and with all his strength he lifted his arms and pushed his father back away from him, his shirt ripping in his father's tight grip. John's father landed heavily against the wall, smashing into a dinner tray. Utensils, plates and food fell to the ground.

"Look what you did, boy." John said in a dangerous whisper, standing up, a malicious smile playing on his lips. "This is your fault. You fucking did this, and you're going to clean it up, you fucking get that?"

"Leave him alone, David."

John turned and there stood his mother, heavy bags under her eyes and her hair a mess, her skinny arms crossed as she stared down at her feet. John remembered her in photographs as well. She used to be real pretty; prom queen, cheerleader, good student. She had everything and then she married this monster and her life was all about drugs. He hated her.

"Get the fuck back inside, Terri."

"But, David-"

"Shut up, Terri!" John's father said, angrily, "Your boy here needs to be taught a lesson."

John wasn't listening, though. In between his mother legs he saw movement and there was Mark in the distance. He was hiding under John's bed the whole time. _Fuck, that kid is smart_. John sighed in relief in seeing that kid, he felt tears in his eyes. He had thought the absolute worst. He also wasn't ready and didn't see the fist coming.

He fell back from the shock, his hand over his face. John didn't have time to react when his father reached for his already ripped shirt and threw him to the floor again, now relentlessly kicking him.

"Peek-a-boo, Mark!" John yelled in between the kicks, "Play peek-a-boo! Peek-a-boo!"

John didn't want his baby brother to see this. John tried to resist the blows, block them to see what was happening. His mother had already retreated, but he watched as Marks small feet disappeared under the bed, again. _Thank fucking Jesus Christ and god all-fucking-mighty._

"The fuck is that, you fucking queer?" His father was now yelling as he kicked him. John hid his face with his arms, his legs close to his chest but he knew it wouldn't be long now. His father was panting, losing breath and his kicks would get softer and it would be over. They did stop and John quickly stood up, moving away from his father, who was still trying to insult him in between breaths, "Is...is that...what you are...queer, huh, fucking kid...mother fucker...mother...stupid..."

John was breathing heavily as he watched his father collapse in his own mess. He tasted blood in his mouth and wiped it away with one hand, his eyes still on the bastard. David sat there, still breathing and looking at nothing. He would be done for today, but Mark wasn't safe. Not right now. He needed a place to stay. He'll figure that out later. Right now, his focus was Mark. He turned his back on his father, walked past his mother, not giving her a second glance. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, ignoring the pain in his chest and his face. Putting on the best smile he had, he went to the floor, grimacing from the swelling he was feeing. He looked in there and saw his brother with Ducky close by. His head was on his arms, his brown eyes staring out. God, he was so innocent.

"Hey, Marky." John said, still smiling and said in a sing-songy voice, "I found you."

Mark smiled up at him and him and lifted his head. "Can I come out?"

"Yeah, let go outside and get some food. You hungry?"

Mark nodded, crawling out and into John's arms. John lifted him and wincing with effort, he slowly stood up, feeling Mark holding onto his shirt tightly. John tried to place him gently on the bed, but Mark didn't want to let go. John closed his eyes tightly, hating everything but Mark, but he had a free hand. He turned and reached for a gym bag that he placed behind his bureau for just these occasions. He opened it and started stuffing clothes into it. He reached for the bread and pastry he had purchased earlier and stuffed those into his bag as well. He turned and walked out of his bedroom and into his brother's room where the small amount of clothing Mark had, he lifted and piled into the bag. He looked around the room, making sure he hadn't forgotten anything not that there was much. He checked to see Mark still had Ducky, he did, and walked out of Mark's room and down the hallway to the front door. He heard his father call out but ignored it as he turned the handle and walked out.

* * *

Brian was home, his mother already on his case about something, but he'd forgotten what it was about already. He's gotten pretty good at that. He was in his room, looking over the school work he did that day. Easy stuff, but he still needed to practice. The last thing he wanted to do was get complacent. He pulled out a sheet of paper from a drawer by his feet, reached for one of his nicely-sharpened pencil and began to write out equations for himself. If he knew the theory, these equations would be a breeze.

There was a knock on his door. "Come in."

"Hey, Brian."

Brian swivelled in his chair and looked up to see his father smiling down at him from the door.

"Hi, dad." Brian said with a smile, "What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing, just wanted to see how you're doing." his father said, hesitating, before walking into Brian's room and sitting on the edge of his bed, his large and heavy frame weighing on the mattress, "What's going on? Did you have a good day?"

Brian thought about it and then nodded his head, "Yeah, it was-it was pretty good."

"That's good." His father said, nervously tapping his fingers together.

"..Uh, was there something else?" Brian asked, raising his eyebrows after a pause.

"No, uh, no, nothing else." was the reply, and his father stood up, smacking the sides of his trousers as if looking to do something with his hands, "Oh, well, yeah, uhm, what, what are you working on, there, bud?"

"Math." Brian said, looking at him.

"Oh, math, well, hey, I used to be uh," his father said, taking in a deep breath, "I used to be pretty good at math back in my day."

"Oh, yeah?" Brian said, nodding his head, "Cool."

"What kind of uh, math?"

"Statistics and trigonometry. Linear equations, scatterplots. That sort of thing. Wanna see?"

"Oh, sure." His father replied, walking to Brian's side and looking over his shoulder.

"See, I'm trying to solve _sin_(_x_) + 2 = 3 for 0° _x_ 360°, just as with linear equations, I first isolate the variable-containing term: _sin_(_x_) + 2 = 3, _sin_(_x_) = 1. Now I use the reference angles I've memorised: _x_ = 90°. I want to solve _tan_2(_x_) + 3 = 0 for 0° _x_ 360°. I might recall that the tangent of 60° involves the square root of 3 and put an answer down, but this equation doesn't actually have a solution: _tan_2(_x_) = –3 How can the _square_ of a trig function evaluate to a _negative_ number? It can't! No solution.

"See? Pretty simple, huh?" Brian looked up to see his father blinking down at what his son had written, but it was obvious it made no sense to him, "That's okay, thanks, dad, you did help me figure it out. I find teaching is the best way to learn something."

"Math's changed, huh?" His father said, giving an awkward laugh.

Brian nodded let out a feeble chuckle, "Yeah, I guess so."

"Okay, well, I'm going to help your mother with dinner and I'll, I guess, I'll talk to you later."

"Sure, dad." Brian said and he watched as his father left the room and closed the door softly behind him.

Brian looked at the equation he did before placing his pencil down and interlocking his fingers behind his head. _Wow_, he thought, _that was such an awkward conversation._ Brian, paused, wondering why his father was suddenly so interested in what his son was up to. His father was a jock, rugby and swimming. It's what he grew up to be it's what he was bred for, and he wanted a son that was going to be just like him and then he ended up with Brian. Anyone could tell his father used to be some sort of sport player, he just had a gut now.

Brian amused himself thinking what it might have been like to have grown up like Andy. He would have ruled the whole school, popular with guys and girls and he wouldn't fall over himself if he wanted to ask a girl out, either. They would flock to him. Brian frowned. He also would have been a jerk, picked on dweebs by taping their asses together and kicked people while they were down. No, he decided, he would rather be nice and insignificant than popular and a dumbass.

He winced. Turns out not all of them are dumbasses. Andy wasn't. He wondered where he was. Probably working out int he gym or whatever the hell sports do during the day. He was glad Allison was so happy. He didn't think he'd ever seen her smile so much before. If she ever did smile before. He didn't know where John was either, but Claire had mentioned him, as he can actually say out loud that he sat beside her in geometry class, too and helped her with math equations. There were whispers, too, but Claire merely turned in her chair and glared at them and it stopped. It was amazing. He smiled to himself, hoping that this would continue, everyone's friendships. He hoped that it this wasn't the best it was going to be. He hoped everyone would evolve and grow, despite the obvious differences. He bit his lips, knowing days don't last forever, either, but he shook his head from such thinking.

* * *

_Long, emotional chapter. I hope you liked it._

_In all seriousness folks, if you are aware of a problem, have the courage and do something about it, anonymous or not. Call the **local hotlines**, use the **internet** and make a change in someone's life. Just google (or whatever you use) "abuse hotline" and everything is there at your fingertips._


	4. Chapter 4

_I hope you don''t mind the pace I've been writing this. I know it's a bit slow, but it's deliberate and for good reason, I think._

* * *

Allison walked quickly past the carefully well-kept and primed front lawn of her parent's home before stopping in front of the big red door that led her inside. Her hood covering her face, she rummaged into her bag and started searching for her keys. Allison always thought the same things while she looked, _why do I have to carry so much shit?_ When she finally found them, she rammed the house key into the lock on the handle and turned. It didn't move. Allison opened her eyes wide as she tried to turn it again. The lock refused.

Allison swallowed, a panic starting to settle in. She stopped for a moment, telling herself to relax and looked through the keys she had on her ring; bedroom, storage, basement, work, work, work...parents'. Allison knew her anxiety level was rising but taking a few deep breaths she placed the key back inside the lock and licking her lips in anticipation, she twisted her wrist, but the handle did not twist with her.

_What the hell?!_ She yelled in her head.

Allison hesitated before raising her hand and knocking on the door softly at first, than louder. She reached for the doorbell and pressed it. Nothing, no one was home. That wasn't unusual.

She looked around her, her eyes falling on the house next door. Mrs. Blackburn, a prissy and bitter old woman, whose only existence was to make everyone's life a living hell. Mrs. Blackburn's husband was in the war, but died recently from a heart attack, leaving her alone with two, idiot grown sons. They still lived with her. They had also joined the military but were home often and whenever they were, they acted like the sports at school, Allison being a target for the usual name-calling. Although, she was never bothered, because they didn't quite have the same balls the jocks did at school; they had no one to impress, here. Allison, on the other hand, had no problem leaving burning dog shit on Blackburn's front porch or calling the police on her for throwing parties and being too loud.

Allison turned her to head to the other side of her parents' house. She wasn't sure who lived there besides a family of four. They didn't seem to come out of their house much, and when they did, they never spoke to anyone. Allison was sure they were part of a cult that worshipped sadism, or a family of ghosts that no one else could see but her. As usual, they weren't around either. She looked across the street, no one else was outside. It was a relatively quiet neighbourhood, and she didn't really expect an audience, which she would've hated, anyway. She sighed softly to herself frowning. The pulled out her keys and threw them angrily into her bag before making her way to the back of the house.

Allison stopped in front of the tall brown gate of the fence and looked around, wondering how she was going to reach the latch. Two large rubbish bins were sitting quietly in a corner beside the fence, one for regular, the other for recycling. She narrowed her eyes and began to climb. At first it was difficult. There was not much trash inside the bins and they had almost fallen over, but she managed to keep them steady as she balanced over the lids, denting them as her feet made contact with the plastic. She reached the fence and swung her feet over, lightly landing on the other side. Before she straightened up, she reached for a rock that was part of her mother's herb garden. Allison walked over to the sliding glass doors, prepared to shatter the glass so she could get inside the damn house.

Allison reached over the doors, pulling them to make sure they were locked. One of them was, however, the other was not. She let out a sigh of relief and frustration and pulled it open, the warm air inside touching her skin as she stepped in. She heard the alarm and ran over to the front door to turn it off, the rock still in her hands. She frowned, biting in her molars. Before heading upstairs to her room she dropped the rock not so lightly on the wooden dining room table and ran up the stairs, her anger evident on her loud stomps. She fumed down the hallway and reached for the handle to the attic. She pulled it down, moving to the side for the ladder to slide out. She pulled the strap of her bag off her shoulder and threw her bag into the attic. She then climbed up the stairs before reaching down to pull the ladder back up.

Still feeling quite angry, she slammed the door to her attic room closed and sat on her bed, her arms crossed. This wasn't the first time they had changed the locks and it wasn't the first time they didn't tell her either. Or second. Or third. Her father was paranoid about everything; his looks, his car, the house so he often changed everything about himself, a new outlook on life every time something wasn't going his way. Which meant a new look, a new car, a new room. How his parents managed to survive without going bankrupt was beyond her. Although, Allison assumed the change of the locks was her mother's idea; one of the neighbours had been robbed this past week and dad wasn't losing his mind over anything.

Allison looked around her room, her drawings covering almost every inch of her wall. If there were no drawings there were murals of her own private fantasy world. She never allowed anyone up in her room, not that anyone wanted to visit. Then again, she didn't want anyone to visit, anyway. She sighed softly and reached for her bag for her school books. She had homework and she didn't want to do it. She placed her textbooks on her desk and reached for the large round window that was the only source of light into the room. She turned the handle to unlock it and pushed the window open, feeling the cool breeze against her face. She could see just over the houses of her neighbourhood.

She smiled softly and turned to her bag again, pulling out her keys. She opened her door again and slowly let the ladder slide out, cautious if anyone was walking underneath. No one was in the house, but it was more out of habit. She made her way down the ladder, then turned to walk down the main stairs of the house. She walked into the kitchen and headed for the fridge, wondering what she should eat. She looked at her watch, she didn't have work that day, but wished she did. She opened the fridge door open and peered in, making a face. Weird diet foods for her mother and odd casseroles her father liked to experiment with. Absolutely nothing looked very appetising, and decided to order a pizza. She was about to reach for the phone on the wall when she heard the front door unlock.

Her temper flared as she listened to her parents coming through the door.

"It was good seeing them again. Remember what we all promised each other during college?" Mum.

"Yeah. Oh, the alarm wasn't set. Did you set it before we left?" Dad.

"Of course I did. I always do."

"Maybe you forgot."

"Maybe. Ugh, let's just put these bags down, my arms feel like they're going to fall off."

Alison was leaning against the wall beside the phone when her parents made it into the kitchen, laughing about something that was apparently very hilarious. They didn't notice Allison standing there until her mother looked up from placing the massive amount of shopping bag on the table.

"Oh, Allison." Her mother said, looking into the bags, "Hello, dear."

"Why is this rock here?" her father said, frowning, and picking it up, "Oh, my table. Damn it."

"Hmm, that looks like one from my garden." Her mother said, taking a look at the rock and still searching through her recent purchases, "They're coming out rather nicely aren't they? My asparagus, I mean. They're just so healthy."

"Yes, yes..." Allison's father said, clearly distracted. He had placed his thumb on his tongue and rubbing the mark Allison left on the table, "Very nice. Damn, I don't know how I'll get this off."

"Can't you just repaint over it, Alex?" her mother said, sounding bored, as she pulled out pillow cushions and sheets.

"No, Lisa, I can't." Her father said with a sigh, and giving up, "Might need a new table."

"Oh, I don't think that's necessary. Maybe-"

Allison finally exploded. She had been tugging at the edges of the old house key, trying to pull it off her key rings, her thumbs were bleeding. She threw her now free key against the wall behind them, making them both jump in surprise. They slowly turned their heads to her as if they just noticed her.

"Thanks for telling me you changed the damn locks again!"

"Oh, sorry, Allison, dear." Her mother said, giving her stupid smile Allison hated, "It won't happen again."

"You've said that before, _mother_." Allison said, glaring at her, "Three times in fact. Did you forget your _daughter_ lives here?"

"Don't talk to your mother that way, Allison." Her father warned her.

Allison turned her eyes on him, "Oh, hi, dad. Didn't see you there. What's _your_ excuse?"

"Christ, I don't have time for this." her father said, turning away and walking toward the stairs.

"Of course you don't, you don't have time for anything besides yourself!" Allison yelled at his retreating back. Allison looked at her mother who was saying nothing, still searching through the bags as if nothing happened.

"By the way," Allison started, crossing her arms, "I tripped on your asparagus because I had to jump over the fence in order to get inside the house. I might have killed them."

"Allison!" her mother said angrily and ran past her to the sliding glass doors.

She was lying, but she didn't care. She moved over to her mothers purse and pulled the house key off the keyring before making her way to the stairs, down the hallway and into her room. It was only when she closed her attic door did she realise she had forgotten about the pizza. She sighed, she didn't want to go back down there. Not until her parents went to bed anyway. She felt her stomach rumble as she stood and sat miserably at her desk. She pushed her books away and reached for her sketchbook and pencils.

* * *

Andy received the almost exact conversation he had foretold in his head when his father found out about his foot. Right after he arrived home from school, his father took him to the nearest emergency room and x-rays were taken of his foot. Nothing was broken to his father's and secretly, to Andy's relief, but the doctor warned them both he would have to stay off his foot for at least two weeks and even after, his foot was going to be tender and should ease back into sports for at least a month. His father was not happy.

The car ride was tense and silent, with a few noises of frustration from his father's mouth and mutters Andy couldn't understand. Although, Andy was sure anything else his father said would not make him feel any lower. Andy felt guilty, but he was also angry with himself. He should have been paying attention to where he was going. His thoughts of Allison were already running through his mind much faster now, but their association was not the same as it was that morning. They were more passionate and cross-filled. She had become his distraction and he didn't realise it yet, but he was slowly poisoning any association with her.

When they finally got home, his father opened his car door with a huff and stormed out of it, throwing the door closed with a slam. Andy was still in the car and watched as his father disappeared into the house. Andy opened the car door and pulled out his crutches from beside his seat and placed them on the concrete driveway. He shifted his weight so that he landed on his good foot, and hopped with it to free the other. A safe distance away, he shoved his shoulder into the car door and closed it. He hopped over to this front door where his mother was already waiting for him.

"Oh, Andy, what happened?" His mother asked, nervously, reaching for him.

"Don't baby him, Delores." his father said from inside, watching the scene, "It's what he deserves."

Andy's mother backed away giving him a small, sad smile before following him inside. Andy swallowed as he stepped in, his ankle starting to hurt again. His doctor had given him a prescription for inflammatory medicine, but his father refused to take him to the pharmacy saying Andy had to suffer through the pain of his mistakes. He sighed softly, heading for the couch and fell into it, lifting his foot to place on the coffee table.

"Don't you put that foot on the table, Andrew." His father said, glaring at him, "Have some manners."

Andy stared at him, then put his foot down, the blood falling again.

"George, stop it." his mother said, sounding annoyed, "He needs to keep his foot elevated and you know that. Put your foot up, Andy."

His father didn't say anything, just crossed his arms as Andy hesitantly placed his foot back on the table, pressure leaving almost immediately, "Do you have homework?"

Andy nodded, "Yes, sir."

"Then what are you sitting around for?" George said, looking at him and pointing upstairs toward his room, "Get to it. God knows, you won't be going to school on sports any more, huh?"

Andy frowned looking away before reaching for his crutches to stand up again.

"George, will you cut it out?" His mother finally said, forcefully pulling the crutches out of Andy's hands, "I am not going to make him walk up the stairs. And neither are you. What is wrong with you?"

"Ma, it's okay." Andy started saying as he gave a sidelong glance at his very upset father, "I can just-"

"Andy, shut up." His mother said as she practically threw the crutches back on the sofa. Andy felt taken aback, his mother didn't often talk to him like this. She placed her hands on her hips and glared back at her husband, "I said 'no'."

It looked as if Andy's father was going to say something back, but he just shook his head thinking better of it and walked away in a huff, throwing his hands up in the air. He heard his mother sigh and drop her hands from her sides. She looked at Andy and pursed her lips, sitting beside him. She looked at her son before saying anything, patting his leg lightly.

"You okay?"

Andy squared his jaw. No. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Don't lie to me." his mother warned, teasingly.

Andy nodded his head.

"Okay." His mother said with pursed lips. She sighed again and stood up, "Are you hungry?"

"A little." Andy said, looking at her.

She nodded, "Get started on your homework and I'll start dinner."

"Thanks, Ma." Andy said, softly.

She gave him a nod and smile before walking away. He winced as pain started creeping up his leg again. The doctor had taken off the strap and given him a boot that would keep his ankle placed, but he still couldn't walk on it, which was expected. He hated feeling so useless. He frowned, realising his bag with his school things were probably upstairs; his mother was incredibly tidy. He leaned his back against the couch and sighed. Guess he won't be finishing his homework tonight, either. His thoughts of unfinished homework brought him back to Allison. He cursed silently, looking at his hands, blaming her. He closed his eyes briefly, before opening them again. Why did she have to be so...why did she...just...why?

He didn't stop thinking about her, either when he tried to sleep. He tossed and turned on the pullout bed from the couch he was sitting on earlier. That was cause for another argument from his parents, his father trying to keep him from living down there, and his mother being very adamant about her stance in keeping Andy off the stairs. In all honesty, a strange turn of events for his mother to stand up to her husband so strongly and it was a great relief in Andy's eyes. His mother had even gone to his room and picked up his heavy bag to place beside his feet. He did manage to finish his homework, just barely, but his thoughts were revolving around Allison and how she was the cause of everything that had happened that day.

Andy woke up early the next morning to the sounds of breakfast his mother was making for the three of them. His father and mother sat at the table in the kitchen with Andy. He had replaced the bed before sitting at the table, feeling somewhat useful and his mother thanked him, but also received a retort from his father for taking so long. A tense silence filled the kitchen, his parents still quite upset with each other. When his father was done, he stood up from his chair, slamming things and moving around in a huff, not saying another word to Andy before leaving the kitchen and slamming the front door shut.

His mother suddenly dropped her fork on her plate and placed a hand to her forehead, "God."

Andy didn't know what to say.

"You ready for school, Andy?" His mother asked, now standing up and taking the empty plates away and into the sink.

"Yeah." Andy replied, standing again, taking care not to put weight on his foot.

"You know why he's acting this way, right?" His mother finally said, pushing the tap handle up for water.

"Stop, Ma." Andy was feeling frustrated.

"What?" his mother said, looking at him.

"You're trying to rationalise everything he does. Just stop." Andy said, now leaning in his crutches.

"But, Andy-" his mother started, turning off the water.

"And this has nothing to do with Ryan, either." Andy told her, turning away, "So just, stop."

Ignoring the face his mother was making, he opened his front door and picked up the bag beside it. Placing the strap over his shoulder, he hopped his way out, the pain thumping in his ankle. He hobbled over to his car before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the keys. He placed it into the door and threw his crutches and bag into the passenger seat. He slid into his car and tuned it on. From the corner of his eye, he saw him mother standing by the door a hand to her mouth, but he pretended not to see her and roared out of the driveway.

"Yo, Andy! Did you break it?"

Andy shook his head, a smile on his face as he greeted his friends again at school. They were seemingly concerned as they saw him, but also making fun of him, which he expected and he knew it was all in good fun. He hopped with his friends to the entrance of the school pausing in front of the stairs. He placed his hand on the railway and on the other side, Paul placed Andy's arm around his shoulders, and together they both made their way up toward the front doors. Inside, Andy was surrounded by other friends from different teams and girls all, apparently, concerned for his well-being. Others in the hallway also gave him supportive looks and went on their way, his teammates surrounding him like an entourage. He turned in his crutches to head for his first class when he spotted Allison.

She was slowly walking out of the main office. He stopped as he watched her, feeling something strange wash over him. Vaguely wondering what she was doing in there, he did the only thing he could and called out to her, "Allison."

She stopped in her tracks and looked around slowly, her face somewhat hidden under her hood. Andy could hear whispers behind him but ignored them as he hobbled toward her. Allison finally saw who called her and she had a soft grin on her face until she saw his foot and her look became concerned and this bothered Andy. He didn't know why, but he didn't like it and as he made his way to her, he could feel himself getting angrier. Allison took a few steps forward, but stopped when she was a few feet away, her face changing slightly.

"Don't look at me that way." Andy told her, sharply stopping in front of her.

Allison furrowed her eyebrows looking at him, obviously very confused and with good reason, but Andy wasn't sure what was wrong with him or what he should say. So, he continued moving past her. Allison just stood there, her face getting increasingly nervous and he was very aware of the look she was giving him. She was slowly reaching for her hood to cover her face, taunts and whispers in the background.

"Who is she, Andy?" said someone behind him. Dan, "Hey, isn't she that weird girl that drinks pig's blood or something?"

"Shut the fuck up, Dan." Andy said, stopping to look at him, angrily.

"What, man?"

But the damage was done. Andy turned his head to see Allison already walking away, her face completely hidden in her hood. He called out to her, but she ignored him and turned a corner, gone. Did she hear what Dan said? What was he trying to do? Why was he punishing her? She did absolutely nothing and he just went and fucked up everything. He wanted to go after her, but he didn't move.

"_Shit_." he said softly, leaning against the wall and feeling very stupid.

* * *

"Nicole is mad at you, you know?" Deborah told her.

"Is she?" Claire said, distractedly. School was over and she was sitting on a bench outside the school, going over her presentation for Mr. Wrinkler's class tomorrow.

"You left her by herself in the cafeteria. She felt like an idiot." Deborah continued, sounding very self-important, "What do you have to say for yourself? Claire!"

"What?" Claire asked, annoyed. Deborah had slammed her hand on the paper Claire was working on, interrupting her thoughts.

Deborah made a noise through her teeth, "What's wrong with you? You've been distracted all day and hiding out in the library. The fucking library? What the hell? And what's with the dweeb kid I saw you hanging out with. Is he your boyfriend, Claire?"

"Leave me alone, Deborah." Claire told her, ignoring the surprised look on her friend's face and stared down at her paper, determined to finish her thoughts.

"Fuck you, Claire." Deborah finally said making another noise and stood up from her spot on the bench. "You're such a bitch."

Claire looked up to see Deborah walking away, probably about to tell the others what she had just said. Typical. She bit her lower lip nervously, wondering if she should have apologised. These were her friends, weren't they? No, Claire thought, she had decided they really weren't. It was too late, anyway, Deborah was gone. She sighed and shrugged her shoulders, too distracted to think anymore. She'd finish it when she got home. She stood up from her spot and gathered her things, placing them into her bag. She wrapped her coat closely around her and pulled the strap of her bag over her shoulders. She sighed and walked to her car, looking around every so often. She had to be honest with herself; Claire worked outside because she wanted to see John. She was hoping he was close by, looking for her too. She sighed, shaking her head, he's not like the others, is he? She found herself at her car, not even realising it. She reached into her purse and pulled out her key. She opened up her door and slid inside to turn the car on. Claire pulled on the door and gave the school grounds one more hopeful look before closing it and leaving.

When she arrived home, she saw both her parents' cars in the drive way. Claire parked her car behind her mother's and stepped out, reaching for her bag. Her keys in her hands, she walked up the long driveway and into the long archway that led her to the front door. Claire turned the keys and opened the first door that led her into a mini greenhouse before she reached the final doors into the house. Her mother had installed this a few years ago, a new hobby she had taken up at that time. Unfortunately, the plants her mother tried to grow she had forgotten in the matter of three months. That was longer than most things she decided to take up. Claire ended up taking care of the plants herself, but her mother never seemed to notice.

Claire took a quick peek at the plants before she opened the final set of double doors into the house. She stepped in and quietly closed the door behind her. Her heels clicking on the floor, she walked into the kitchen where she knew Andrea would be, looking forward to a friendly face, but she wasn't there. It was her father.

He was sitting quietly at the counter, drinking a small cup of coffee and reading from the newspaper. When she walked in, he looked up and gave her a smile.

"Hey, sweetheart." He said, placing his paper down and reaching for her. Claire gave him a small smile, planting a kiss on her father' cheek, "Did you have a good day at school?"

"Where's Andrea?" Claire asked, not really wanting to answer the question.

"Oh, she's gone home." Her father said, picking up the paper again, "I was home and she had finished the chores, already. And something about her kid being sick or...something."

"Her son, Marcus, you mean? He has pneumonia, daddy." Claire told him, feeling concerned.

"Oh, does he?" Her father said, distracted as he read the paper.

Claire sighed softly, "Is mum here?"

"Hmm, how's that?" her father replied, taking a sip from his coffee.

"Mum. Is she home?" Claire said, slowly, her frustration filling her chest.

"I don't know, I'm assuming she's upstairs, drinking. Haven't seen her." Her father said, looking at her over his reading glasses, "Did you look upstairs?"

"I just got here, daddy." Claire muttered as she walked away, her father making a noise, not paying attention.

Claire walked to the stairs of her house and climbed it until she reached her mother's room. She peeked into the room and listened. She could hear a television, one of the many some soap operas her mother had a strange obsession with. She stood between her mother's room and her own, wondering whether she should even go in there. Her mother could either be splayed out on her bed, fully clothed and drunk, or she could be sitting on her sofa, fully clothed and drunk. It might be mean of her not to say hello, though. Claire shook her head, turned in the hallway and walked to her room.

She turned the handle of her bedroom door and walked in, dropping her bag on the floor before allowing herself to fall on her bed. She kicked off her shoes and turned on her side, thinking. She did catch hell from Steph and Deborah when they cornered her before the last class -English- they all shared together. Steph was angry because Claire backed off on a promise and Deborah is often simply just cruel. Claire closed her eyes and placed a hand on her forehead, feeling annoyed. During the confrontation she didn't say anything, taking in all the insults, passive aggressive guilt trips, and whatever else they threw at her. She should have yelled at them, or screamed at them, at least put them in their place, but she couldn't. She hated that she was being yelled at for what was apparently, a life-threatening event. Claire opened her eyes and frowned, hating them. She sat up and reached for her phone, but she paused, her hand on the receiver. Who was she going to call? She literally had no one.

Claire furrowed her eyebrows then picked up the phone and dialed Andrea's phone number. Andrea had given Claire her number a long time ago, just in case Claire wanted to talk about anything, but she never did. For once, Claire's thoughts were about someone else's problems and not herself. Claire's problems at school seemed completely petty in regards to a sick, young boy. Andrea did sound somewhat surprised to hear Claire's vice on the other line but seemed happy to talk. Claire asked Andrea how she was, how Marcus was, how her husband was. She asked Andrea whether her other son, Jason, had gotten on his school's basketball team. She asked whether Andrea's mother had a good birthday or not.

After she hung up the phone, she was happier than before the phone call. Claire stood up from the bed and reached for her books from her bag. She pulled them out and moved across her room to place them on her desk. She then walked to her vanity and sat on its stool. She stared at her face, not liking what she saw. She looked pale and depressed. She made herself smile. It didn't work; she looked miserable and that's exactly how she felt. She placed her hands under her chin, her eyes locating the diamond earring. She picked it up and stared at it between her fingers, her thoughts returning to John and wondering whether he still had the one she gave him.

It was a gift from her father, his apology when she had discovered his first office-affiliated affair. When he had given the Tiffany earrings to her, she found them to be completely worthless. When she had told her friends about the earrings, not only did they completely disregard the fact her father had an affair, but they told her she should wear them, and, well, Claire did. They were real Tiffany diamonds and that was much more important than her father's fling, which is what he called it. This was about ten years ago, when her parents began to have problems, at least when Claire was old enough to notice. Between then and now, Claire had lost count about how many people her father slept with, because she just didn't care anymore and her mother pretty much gave up as well.

But her mother wasn't completely innocent, either. She was also having affairs, but hers lasted longer, at least, two so far. Her mother also brought them home, in full view of her husband, not caring where he was. When Claire found out there was another man in the house that not her father, her mother gave her a brand new car, something her father had been promising Claire since she learned to drive. The second affair from her mother, Claire was allowed to decorate her room however she wanted, with whatever she wanted.

Claire was still holding the earring between her fingers, finding it to have much greater value now than it ever did, but she also felt disgusted with herself. She took whatever her parents gave her and used it. She realised she was enabling the behaviour because she took the earrings, the car, the new room, and whatever expensive gifts her parents showered her with. Claire sighed and gently placed her lone earring back on the vanity.

* * *

"Wanna see Aunt Tess, Mark?" John was telling his baby brother as soothingly as he could.

Mark said nothing, nuzzling his face into John's shoulder. John sighed, pushing himself forward, now. The adrenaline that had been pumping through his veins half an hour ago had allowed himself to walk faster than usual, but now he was wearing thin and he truly felt the bruises. He wanted very much to switch sides with Mark, but the kid refused to let go of his shirt. He had finally made it to the bar and let out a sigh of relief before shifting the bag over his arm and reaching the handle.

"Sorry, I'm late." John announced loudly as he walked into the dark bar. The smell of whiskey and cigarettes was strong inside and he placed his bag on the bar, his hand over Mark's face.

"Hey, you can't bring a kid here!" accused someone from the bar.

"Sit down and shut up, Steve!" John heard Tess yell. Steve sat and grumbled something under his breath. Tess ignored him and walked over to John from the other side, "Come around the bar, John."

John reached for his bag again and walked around to the other side of the bar, where Tess was waiting for him, the bar door opened. When he walked down the small set of stairs, he followed her into another door, down another set of longer stairs and finally reaching the cool basement. Tess reached over her head and pulled the string for the lightbulb from the ceiling and looked at him.

"Oh god, John." Tess said, staring at him, "What the-what happened?"

John shrugged, not caring to go into the details, "Was in a fight."

"No kidding, Bender." Tess said, staring at him, then turning to Mark, smiling toothily, "Hey, Marky, Marky. How are you?"

Mark recognising Tess, gave her a small smile and looked away. Tess let out a soft chuckle as John placed Mark on the table in the middle of the room. It took a minute before Mark let go and sat on the able, Ducky still in his mouth. John took off his coat and wrapped it around his brother, before reaching for his bag and opening it to retrieve the pastry to hand to Mark.

"So," Tess started, her arms crossed under her rather voluptuous bosom and she knew it. She said they were the best money-maker she ever had, and she was not afraid to show them off, either. She leaned against the doorway and looked at John, her eyebrows slightly raised, "need a place to stay?"

"Just for a day." John said, feeling grateful as he looked at her, "Just until I get things handled and he'll be out of your hair."

"It's fine, John, my kid will be with me tomorrow, so the two of them can play together."

"Can't thank you enough, Tess." John said, walking to her, happier knowing Mark was going to be fine for almost 24 hours. He smiled at the woman teasingly, "unless..."

Tess gave him a face, "Is that all you think about? Get yourself a girlfriend, John. And not one of the floozies I usually see you with."

"What's wrong with you?" John said, smirking at her, then paused, "I like floozies."

"I'm too old and _you_ are not my type." Tess told him, rolling her eyes, "Now, get yourself busy moving those kegs from the back. I'm going need you to bring them up tonight."

"Sure." John said, then he hesitated before calling her back, "Wait, Tess, I'm...I need an advance..."

"Another one?" Tess said, walking back down the basement steps. She looked at him questioningly, "John, I can't keep doing this. It's your second one this month."

"Yeah, I know, but...I need it." John said, looking at her seriously, hating himself.

"Damn it, John, for what?" Tess started and John was about to answer 'a new thicker door' but she brought up her hand and said, "No..no, don't tell me, but just think about Mark, okay? He's all you've got."

"He's all I think about, Tess." John said, looking over his shoulder at Mark who was sitting quietly with Ducky in his mouth again, the pastry gone.

Tess sighed loudly and pursed her lips before nodding her head, then, "Did you eat?"

John just looked at her, not wanting say anything out loud, because that would just mean everything that's happened to him is true.

"Alright, get to work and I'll be done in a minute with some food." Tess said, stomping back up the stairs.

John let out a sigh of relief and wandered over to Mark who was staring at him. John gave him a smile and reached for the bread he had stored in the bag as well and opened up the package. He pulled out a slice and ripped it apart, handing a large piece to Mark. Mark dropped Ducky and allowed John to stuff the bread inside it. John chuckled as he watched Mark chew on the bread, letting the large piece fall freely from his mouth. He watched Mark pick it up and start chewing on it again. John stuffed his own into his mouth, reached for another slice and walked toward the kegs. He grunted and strained as he pulled and pushed the kegs to line up beside the basement stairs. The work was harder this time because his bruises would not allow him to forget them.

It wasn't until all 8 kegs were by the stairs did Tess finally come down the stairs, two full plates in her hands. She placed them on the table Mark was sitting at with two empty cups. She reached into her apron and pulled out two cans of coke and a set of napkins.

"Thanks, Tess." John told her.

Tess gave him a small smile and made her way back up the stairs.

"Look what Aunt Tess got us." John said, enthusiastically, his stomach growling from the smell of his plate. Tess had given him a nice burger with a side of chips and Mark was given a plate of macaroni and cheese. Mark was staring at his plate, hungrily, waiting for John. John reached for a spoon and gave it to Mark who took it awkwardly, "Looks good, huh?"

He watched Mark place his spoon into the macaroni and slowly tried to balance a single noodle as it made its way to his mouth. Mark tried to keep his eye on the spoon until it disappeared into his mouth. John smiled as he reached for the soda can and poured into a sippy cup for his brother; it was a cup Tess's young son used. He opened his own can and poured for himself before reaching for his burger and taking a large bite out of it. The two of them ate in silence, Mark every so often missing his mouth and making a mess, causing John to laugh and wipe his brother's face with a napkin. By the time the two of them were finished, Mark was getting sleepy and his eyes were falling as he tried to stay up. John wiped his hands and reached for his other jacket he had taken off while he was moving the kegs. He folded it and made it into a pillow, gently, pushing Mark onto the table. The first jacket he had placed around his bother was on the floor. He picked it up and placed it around Mark who was already sound asleep.

John sighed softly, and walked to the back again, deciding to clean up the basement, his eyes on his brother every so often. John kept himself busy while ignoring his pain. Cleaning the basement was not only a distraction but it was a way to pay back Tess. She was the only one that hired him nearly four years ago when he needed it the most, paying him under the table. As much as he didn't want to, times like these was when he really needed to depend on someone and he knew he could trust her. He wondered if Tess had figured out what really happens to him. She never asked questions, she simply inferred, but he neither agreed nor disagreed. What was the point? She helped him when he needed it, and he wanted to help her as often as he could, that was all that was necessary.

John stepped back as he finished sweeping the floor, admiring his work. The shelves were up and neatly placed, tables were folded in and neatly placed against the back wall, chairs were stacked over each other and whatever things he found he placed on the shelves. Tess could deal with them as she saw fit. He heard footsteps coming down the stairs and turned around.

"Wow." Tess said, looking at John's handwork and smiling at him, "Looks real good, thanks a lot, Bender."

"Anything for you, Tess." John said, placing the broom against the wall beside the basement stairs and tying up rubbish bag.

"Good. Bring up the kegs and place them against the bar, will you?" Tess said, heading over to Mark, "I'll keep an eye on him. Mike's already up there."

"Yeah." John did, although this was much harder to do, but he pulled and pushed, grunting and shoving the kegs until they were all up the stairs and by the bar. Wiping the sweat from his face, he walked down the steps and said, "Done."

"Alright." Tess said, pulling off her apron, "I'm closing the bar early."

"You sure?" John said, looking at her. This bar was hers and it was her only income.

"Yeah, it ain't that busy right now; it's Monday." Tess said, shrugging as she walked around the table and walking back up, "So, come on up when you're ready and I'll give you a ride to my place."

* * *

"Do you have homework?"

"Yes." Brian always had homework.

"Do you have any tests coming up?"

"Yes." Brian had a math quiz and English test in a two days. Easy stuff.

"Are you ready for them?"

Brian wanted to say no, but he muttered, "Yeah."

"'_Yes_'", Brian. Talk properly."

Brian frowned, "Yes."

"You had better be ready."

That was their car ride. It was always the same. His mother drilling him questions about school after she picks Brian up, his sister beside him, turning her head between her mother and her brother as if she were watching a tennis match. Sometimes Brian's sister would speak up to get a rise of her brother, but she was usually pretty quiet, focused on playing with her barbie dolls or whatever.

Brian could only assume his mother was pissed he still received detention that past Saturday. Brian also knew her anger wasn't going to go away for awhile. Not unless he did something make up for it, like graduate valedictorian. He used to be obsessed with knowing who was getting top grades. He was really competitive against his friends, but then, it didn't seem like that big a deal. Now, that he was a senior, his mother was ragging on him to focus on his grades harder than ever, and he was slowly losing interest. He just didn't care anymore because he knew there were more important things. It wasn't the detention that changed his mind, although it did reinforce thoughts that had been swimming around in there for awhile. Some darker than others.

When they all arrived at the house, Brian opened his car door, his backpack sitting on one shoulder. He paused in his tracks and turned around to see Mary struggling to get out of the truck. She was wearing her ballet uniform and her pink tutu seemed to be stuck on the seat. Brian sighed before walking over to her as she slowly fell to the pavement on her feet.

"You good?" Brian asked her.

Mary nodded her head, used her small strength to push the door shut and ran to the other side of the car where her mother was waiting with a smile by the front door. It quickly turned to a frown when she eyed Brian.

"Brian! Hurry up! You have homework to do!"

"I was-I-" Brian started, feeling exasperated.

"No talk-back, mister!" His mother said, glaring, "Get moving. Now!"

Brian could feel his shoulders deflate, his eyes blurred with anger. He hitched up his backpack once more on his shoulder and slowly made his way around the car, following his sister into the house. He could hear his mother talking rapidly about disappointments and G.P.A's and something else, but Brian didn't understand anything she said. He ran past her and stomped on the stairs, ignoring his mother's voice that was telling him to stop running. Brian threw his backpack into his room before throwing himself on his bed.

"Hey, hey, Brian?" His father.

Brian set up and walked out of his room, leaning against the banister and staring down to the ground floor, "Yeah?"

His father walked to where he could see his son, his hands in his pockets, "Someone called you about half an hour ago. An...Alice? Allison?"

Brian said nothing, then, "...Re-really?"

"Who is Allison, Brian?" His mother wandered beside her husband and looked up, her arms crossed.

Brian thought fast, "Classmate...she's...new, and she's a lab partner. We have a project together and she might be asking to work on it, today."

"When is this project due?" his mother asked, looking at her son suspiciously, "What is it about?"

"Tom-tom..Thursday." Brian said, "It's a diorama of the ocean and Ms. Oliver said we should starting working on it today if we want a good grade."

"I see." His mother said, giving him a look.

Before she could say anything else, Brian made his way down the stairs and looked at his father, "Did you take down a number?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah." His father said, walking back to the kitchen. He reached for a scarp of paper and gave it to Brian, a small, strange, smile on his face, "Here you go."

"Thanks, dad." Brian said and reached for the receiver. He could feel his mother's eyes on the back of his neck, but he ignored it, waiting as the hone ring.

There were about six rings before Brian realised he should probably hang-up but he was hoping the next ring would be the next, or the next one.

"Hellooo?" a woman's voice rang out, almost singing.

Brian didn't answer right away and hear another "hello" before he opened his mouth, "Hi, yes, can I-I talk to Allison?"

"Allison?" said the woman sounding confused, then she gave a small breathy laugh and said, "Yes, Allison, of course. I will...go get her."

Brian widened his eyes, assuming this woman was Allison's mother. He chuckled to himself, wondering what exactly what had happened for Allison to be the way she was. Although, Brian decided, he would rather have down-to-earth Allison for a friend than some airhead, he assumed his mother was. He turned around to see his own mother still watching him from her seat at the table, but he turned away again, ignoring the looks she gave him. It was awhile before he heard the phone picked up again and Allison's soft voice came through.

"Brian?"

"Hey, Allison, lab...partner..."

He heard Allison pause, then giggle, "Lab partner?"

"Yeah, sure, we can work on the diorama today. Ms. Oliver is a real pain in the butt, huh?"

"Oh, Christ, Brian." Allison said, sounding amused, then she sighed, "I don't want to be here, anyway. Mind if I bring over pizza?"

Brian paused, thinking about his mother's attitude against greasy food, "Oh, well, I don't know, because-"

"I'm bringing pizza." Allison told him, "What's your address?"

Brian told her and they hung up.

"Well?" his mother started.

"Well, what?" Brian said, looking at her.

"What did you talk about, Brian?" His mother asked him impatiently.

"She's coming over." He said to her.

"What about your homework?"

"We'll do it together." Brian said, walking away from the kitchen toward the stairs, talking rapidly and loudly so that his mother couldn't interrupt him, "She's already left. She'll be here soon."

Twenty minutes later, Allison was stepping inside Brian's house, a pizza box in her hand. Brian closed the door behind her and turned to look at her. Allison still wore her hood as she looked around Brian's house, slowly chewing on a piece of the slice of pizza she had in her other hand. She turned her head to stare at Brian and gave him a mocking smile before dropping the pizza box on the nearest table and dropping into a chair. That was when Brian's mother walked toward the front door, a smile plastered on her face but it turned downward when her eyes landed on Allison.

"Uh, this is Allison, mum." Brian said, nervously motioning toward her.

"Hi, Allison." his mother said, pulling out her hand. Allison looked at the hand and then stared at Brian's mother, her face unchanged as she stufed the rest of the pizza in her mouth, her cheeks puffed from the amount of food in her mouth.

"She's...she's really shy." Brian said, walking over to his mother and standing between her and Allison. He could see his mother's frown deepen."

"Ah, I see, well, it's only polite when a guest walks into another person's house and greets them, that's all." His mother stated and staring at Brian, clearly affronted.

"Okay..." Brian said trying to ease the tension, "Well, we have a lot of work to do, so, c'mon, Allison. Let's get this done. Allison?"

Brian watched Allison finally taker her eyes off Brian's mom, then at him. She slowly stood up from the couch and walked past Brian's mum and gathered up the pizza box and waited. Brian, feeling increasingly nervous, began walking quickly toward the stairs and knowing Allison wasn't far behind, ran up the stairs and didn't stop until the two of them were in the room.

"Keep the door open!" His mother yelled at them. Brian heard it but he didn't listen and shut his door.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, "Jesus, Allison..."

Allison was laughing silently, her shoulders moving up and down rapidly. Her face was read and she was unable to say anything.

"It's not funny." Brian said, trying not to laugh himself, "You know how much shit I'm going to get for that?"

This made Allison laugh even harder and she fell over on to the floor and landed on the pizza box, flattening it. Brian began to laugh as well and it was long before the two of them were able to stop, bot their eyes watering. The sat in silence for awhile, the two of them chewing on the flat pizza, their thoughts elsewhere. Allison was sketching something in her book and Brian watched her.

"What are you drawing?" Brian asked, swallowing the last bit of pizza. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the door and his arms propped against his raised knees.

Allison looked up at Brian before answering. She shrugged her shoulders then hesitantly, showed it to Brian. He stared at it, impressed. She only had pencils on her, but she had drawn what looked like an overlook of a small town some fair distance below. She drew a dark shadow of someone sitting on a plateau, their legs swinging.

"This is really good." Brian said, looking up at her.

Allison was now standing and looking around Brian's room, staring at a poster he had of his favourite astrophysicist, Carl Sagan. Allison turned to look at Brian and she gave him a shy smile and unzipped her jacket. She placed it on Brian's bed and sat on it, "Thanks."

"Something happened, huh?" Brian said after a few moments, closing Allison's sketchbook and placing it gently on the floor beside him.

Allison looked at him, narrowing her eyes, "What do you mean?"

Brian paused, then shrugged, "You looked unhappy this morning. Like, really unhappy. Was it your parents?"

Allison sighed, leaning back on her hands, "Kind of...they changed the locks on me. Again."

"Again?" Brian asked, "They've done this before?"

Allison nodded her head, then shrugged, "Not that big a deal. I'm used to it. It still pisses me off though. They're so wrapped up in themselves, I might as well not exist..."

Bran looked at her and waited, not sure what to say.

"You know Hashimoto? The school counsellor?" Brian nodded and Allison went on, "He told me there will always be good times and bad ones. I knew that, I just never experienced it. Andy was a good time. Then he turned bad."

"What did he do?"

Allison looked at him, her eyes bright, then turned away. She didn't say anything for awhile then finally, "He ignored me."

Brian frowned, feeling concerned, "You know...I-I'm sure it wasn't on purpose. He might've, he might just be in a really bad mood. I heard he broke his ankle. Can you imagine what his dad might be ragging on him about?"

"That shouldn't matter, Brian." Allison said, looking at him angrily. Brian closed his mouth and said nothing else as he watched Allison stand up from his bed and plopped back down on the floor, "I'm used to it. It was inevitable and things will just go back to the way they were."

"Claire seems okay." Brian said, thinking back. He had found her in the library again, this time she was working on a reading assignment for her English class and seemed just as glad to see him as before.

"It won't last." Allison said, looking at him, "It never does.

* * *

_Serious thoughts on this particular chapter?_

_Thanks for reading, and please review. I really don't mind praises and/or criticisms._


	5. Chapter 5

_Kinda feeling iffy about these past few chapters. Thoughts?_

* * *

Allison hummed to herself softly as she dipped her paintbrush into a small glass of deep blue colour. She tapped the sides of the glass gently and placed her brush on her canvas. Allison was hiding out in the art room storage, a room that was placed behind the two large pottery kilns. She had discovered it one day while she was searching for more clay. It was painted exactly the same as the rest of the room, a bland yellow the same exact colour of dehydrated pee, except for the small brass handle. She opened it and looked inside, noticing a messy room, but a relatively large one. As far as she knew, Allison was the only one aware of the room. The door to the storage was in an ill-gotten place. It would hit one of the the kilns if opened too far but Allison could fit through easily, unlike her teacher, Mrs. Stuckey, who was easily thee times her size. Allison had also painstakingly cleaned up the room that was covered heavily in dust and random items people seemed to have decided to throw in there, like old rubbish, books and folders from years ago, and boxer shorts. Allison made herself shower three times after she had finished before feeling satisfyingly clean. It took a good two weeks since she had to time herself so as not to get caught by anyone, but it was worth it. She also found a pile of stacked canvasses, more sketchbooks, and as many pencils as she wanted. She didn't know if her teacher knew about this place, but then again, her teacher was also an idiot.

Allison stood up from her stool and stared at her painting. She smiled to herself and started to gather up her things as she checked her watch to see the time. She had ten minutes before her teacher was going to come in for lunch. She placed her sketchbooks in her bag and before turning off the switch that lit up the room, she took one last look around her to see if she had forgotten anything. Slowly, she opened the door, peeking through the crack and listening for any signs of movement. Nothing. She stepped out and softly closed the door behind her. She was in the clear as long as no one saw her. If her teacher was to catch her in here, she could simply say she was looking for more inspiration by studying other students' work. Mrs. Stuckey loved shit like that.

Allison managed to leave the room without incident and headed for her locker, the hallways empty for now, but in a minute the bell was going to ring and it would just seem as if she just came out of her class. She pulled open her locker and reached into her bag for her books to place inside and then gather other ones. The bell rang overhead and the voices of students piled out into the hallway, all moving swiftly before class started again. Allison gave her locker one more look before closing and locking it. She turned around and stopped short.

"Hi."

Allison was staring at three different girls. Girls she had seen in the distance and never cared to talk to, not that they would have spoken to her, anyway. Allison kept her face neutral, looking at each one in turn, trying to recall their names. Nothing. She must have looked somewhat glazed over when one of them spoke up, not trying to hide her voice.

"Is she high or something?"

"Hey!" said the first, snapping her fingers in front of Allison. Allison raised her eyebrows at the girl's fingers but said nothing and the first continued, "Do you know who we are?"

Allison said nothing and merely stared. She was not intimidated. It was a tactic her mother used to use on her, but she simply shrugged it off and that was when her mother started losing interest in trying to change her and pretending she was just a thorn she would have to live with. Well, until Allison moved out on her own, anyway.

The first sighed and pointed to herself and the others beside her, "I'm Nicole, Marcia, Steph."

_Congratulations_, Allison thought, looking at her.

Not getting the response she was expecting, Nicole sighed impatiently and crossed her arms, "How do you know Andy?"

At the sound of Andy's name, Allison felt her stomach turn. She hadn't seen him in a few days, not that she was actively looking for him. In fact, Allison was going out of her way to not just avoid him, but everyone else, even Brian. She was choosing not to speak with Hashimoto and she knew he was probably a bit worried, but at this point of time, she'd rather handle things her way and if that meant going back to the way things were, she could live with that. Change scared her and she decided Andy was one she would never be able to deal with. He wasn't worth it.

Nicole was looking more cross as she watched Allison, who was clearly not responding as she would have liked, "What is wrong with you? Are you a fucking airhead or something?"

_Insults, _Allison thought. Another tactic. She started giggling to herself as she looked at Nicole, her face as flustered and angry as he father's whenever he lost an argument or something didn't go his way. She was surrounded by idiots.

"She's fucking crazy." Another said, Steph, or Stacey, or something short and stupid.

"What are you guys doing?" Allison turned her head to see someone else, someone she recognised. Claire. It was the first time Allison had seen her since the detention and she surprised herself by realising she didn't mind Claire at all. Allison then noticed the sudden silence in the halls. Interesting.

"Hi, Claire." said one of the girls giving Claire a smile.

"What do you want, Claire?" Nicole said, turning her attention to the newcomer, "I'm not talking to you."

"I don't care if you're not talking to me, Nicole." Claire said, her eyebrows furrowed, "I asked what you were doing?"

"None of your damn business." said the one with the short and stupid name.

Allison was enjoying this, her eyes roving between all of them as they starred at the each other angrily, making "tutting" noises under their breaths and sighing irritably. Allison looked at Claire for her reaction.

"Leave Allison alone, all of you." Claire said, looking at them all squarely in the eye, "She's never done anything to you."

"Sticking up for the freaks, now, Claire?" Nicole retorted, glaring at her, "Fuck off."

"Nicole, I've known you all your life and the only reason you're bothering Allison is because you have a thing for Andy and you think she's a threat." Claire replied, not bothering to keep her voice down, "Don't flatter yourself. No one will ever like you that much."

"'A threat'?" Nicole said, letting out a laugh and pointing a finger at Allison, "From her? No fucking way. You don't know anything, Claire."

With that, Nicole and her friends walked past her, Nicole making sure her shoulder hit Claire painfully before leaving the area and another calling her "bitch". Allison stared at Claire, who was rubbing her shoulder tenderly. Allison suddenly felt grateful as she watched Claire leaning against the lockers beside her. The halls were relatively quiet, but now intense whispers moved through the school and Allison doubted the entire school wouldn't know about what had just happened before the last bell.

"Thank you." Allison finally said, looking at her feet.

"No problem." Claire said, then laughed weakly, "Those were my only friends. Guess, I don't have anymore. Well, Brian."

Allison sighed softly to herself, thinking, maybe she shouldn't avoid everyone. She opened her mouth hesitantly and nearly whispered, "I can be your friend, too."

Claire raised her eyebrows, looking at Allison, then she gave her a soft smile, "Okay."

They walked together in silence toward their last classes. Allison was struggling internally, opening and closing her mouth several times before finally asking, "What happened to Andy?"

"Andy?" Claire said, frowning as the two of them stopped at a cross section in the halls, "He twisted his ankle real bad. You...didn't know?"

Allison shook her head slowly. Obviously, he hurt his foot, but she didn't know what happened.

"Oh," Claire started then stopped as she looked at Allison who was really not liking the way her chest felt. Then Claire spoke up again, "Brian told me you two were okay..."

Allison didn't say anything, not wanting to go into details.

"Well," Claire continued, "Nicole has always liked Andy. If she's attacking you, it's on Andy."

Allison was still staring at her feet and told herself it didn't matter, because he wouldn't be anything once school ended and that was that.

"What are you doing after school?" Claire asked, changing the subject, "Wanna hang?"

This made Allison look up and she was about to say yes, but remembered she had other plans, "I have work."

"You work?" Claire asked, surprised, then, "Okay. Where is it? I'll drive you."

"West Street." Allison said, looking at her, "By the cinema."

"See you after school." Claire said smiling at her walking away toward her class.

Allison stared after her a few second more, feeling happier than she had been.

* * *

It was Friday and Andy was allowed to walk without crutches. He had given them back to Coach Nease when he arrived at the gym for practice that day. He wasn't allowed to wrestle, but his father wanted him to stick to the practice schedule anyway, saying he didn't want his son getting lazy and slacking off. The first meet of the last season was tomorrow and Andy still felt the anticipation he had whenever a game was going to start, even if he couldn't join in. He would be there though and he couldn't wait.

"Clark!"

"Coach?" Andy answered, looking up from the homework he was doing on the benches.

"You seen Winters anywhere?" Nease asked him, his face set as his eyes roved around the gym, "He ain't in the locker room."

Andy shook his head, "Nah. We have the same last period. Thought he'd be here."

"Do me a favour and find him?" Nease said, sounding impatient, "I can't wait anymore. The meet is tomorrow and I can't hold off practice."

"Sure." Andy said, standing awkwardly.

He watched Nease turn toward his teammates, blowing his whistle. Andy turned and made his way limping through the gym and past the gym doors. He pushed one of the heavy doors opened and began walking across the field, his eyes looking for Michael Winters. Not seeing him, Andy reached for the handle to the back doors for he school but they were already locked. He sighed softly, feeling a dull pain in his ankle. He allowed the small amount of stretch the boot would allow him and continued to limp toward the front of the school. He turned a corner and stopped in his tracks, his heart giving a skip.

He saw Claire and Allison walking down the front steps from the school entrance talking rapidly about something. Andy fixed his eyes on Allison and swallowed, wondering where she was going. He took a few steps forward, wanting to call out to her, but he didn't. He felt embarrassed; he didn't know how to approach her or what to say, just stood there like an idiot. They were walking to the car park. Andy swallowed again and swiftly reached for his back pockets; his car keys and wallet were there. He was breathing heavily now; he had no idea what to do and cursed softly. If he didn't do something, he was going to lose her, he just knew it.

Nease told him to find Winters. He probably should.

Allison.

His father was going to find out he wasn't at practice.

Allison.

He left all his shit there.

Allison.

Make a decision, dumbass!

Allison. Dad. Allison. Coach.

ALLISON.

Allison, it was. Andy made his way to the parking lot as quickly as he could, reaching his car just in time to see Claire's BMW leave the lot and make a right onto the street. Andy pulled out his keys, dropping them and picking them up again, calling himself names. He rammed his keys in before stepping in and turning on the ignition. He backed up his car as fast as he dared and drove forward again, his tires screeching against the pavement and his car practically flying out of the lot. Andy had not even bothered to check if other cars were coming his way as he turned right.

Thinking he lost them, Andy drove faster, wondering if Claire had made any other turns, but no, there she was three cars in front of him. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, happy he knew exactly where Allison was. Andy followed them onto a main street and continued into another part of town, a part he didn't often visit and wondered where they were going. Claire was slowing down and made a sharp turn into what looked like a shopping centre. He followed them, slowly, trying not to look to obvious and instead of following Claire through the car park, he made a big U-turn and parked further away, but in still clear view. He waited.

He watched Claire park her car in front of an old brick building that had a banner on it stating "Your Name Here". Andy watched as Allison hopped out of Claire's car and after a minute of talking she waved until Claire's vehicle disappeared from view. Allison turned around and walked into the building. Andy's eyes still on the building, he turned his car back on and drove toward the building, parking as close as he could to it. He turned off the ignition and took a minute, breathing heavily. No time to think.

He opened his car door and hobbled out, looking at the building. It looked as if were going to fall apart right in front of his eyes. He limped around his car and walked across the street stepping in front of the building, looking around for an entrance. Is this where she lived? _No_, Andy though, _this wasn't a neighbourhood._ At least, he hoped it wasn't. Not seeing an entrance he was about to give up when he saw a very faded sign that was spray-painted on the building. A large arrow was pointing down and said "Underground Records and Live Performances". Andy furrowed his eyebrows and stepped forward and realised a narrow set of steps were placed downward, leading toward a single grey door.

He raised his eyebrows slowly and made his way down, taking one step at a time, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in his ankle. At the door he paused, his hand touching the handle. _No backing out now, Clark._ He grasped the handle and turned it. The door opened and he stepped into a very dark area, only a few, dim lights lit the inside of the building.

It took a moment before Andy's eyes were able to adjust to the darkness. He was in a short, narrow corridor, and followed it until he came upon a larger area. Music was playing overhead, music he had never heard before, and stacks of records were piled on shelves, about two or three people looking through them. A stage was set up in a corner and a woman dressed entirely in black was reading something from a piece of paper, her eyes covered with sunglasses. More people were watching the woman, nodding, or closing their eyes as they listened. Andy shrugged at the off-beat atmosphere as he continued walking, looking for Allison, hoping she was here.

Andy were aware of the stares he was getting but he merely gave them a nod and smile before looking away, his mind focused on Allison. He still hadn't seen her and he was starting to think she hadn't even come this way, but she had to have been. He found his way to a counter where someone was bobbing his head to the music playing as he wrote some things on a piece of paper.

"Hi." Andy said.

The man behind the counter looked up, staring at Andy, obviously taken aback somewhat, "Uh, what...can I do for you?"

"I'm looking for Allison." Andy replied, looking around him before turning back at the man, "Is she here?"

"Allison? Uh, yeah..." the man said, looking at Andy suspiciously then turned his head toward the floor. Andy followed his eyes and noticed someone else was there, apparently not listening, it was Allison.

Andy licked his lips and walked around the counter, the man already grabbing her attention and pointing toward Andy. He watched her face change from expectant, to nervous, then to angry. Andy watched Allison stand slowly, staring at him, her eyes narrowed. She was the only one that could make him feel about two feet tall. He wasn't sure what to say as Allison walked past him in huff and toward the back room, slamming the door behind her.

"Doesn't look like she wants to talk, man." the man said beside him.

Andy ignored him and started walking toward the back.

"Hey, you can't go back there." the man said.

"Wanna stop me?" Andy paused, turning to look at him.

The man opened his mouth, then closed it before shrugging and looking away. Even if Andy was limping, the man didn't seem to want to take chances. Andy smiled to himself and lifted his hand to knock on the door after approaching it.

"Allison?" Andy waited. Nothing. "I'm comin' in."

He opened the door slowly but didn't see anything beside more boxes of records and costumes. A few instruments and amplifiers littered the floor, and massive shelves of even more music in dozens of boxes. He heard the sound of something falling and someone cursing under their breath. Andy moved toward the sound and saw movement between two shelves. Allison was making herself busy, moving boxes around and replacing the fallen records back inside other empty ones.

"Allison." Andy tried again.

"Go away." Was her reply.

_Sounds familiar_, Andy thought, grimly. "No, I'm not going to go away."

Allison didn't reply. Hoping this was a good sign, he took another step forward, "I'm sorry, Allison. I didn't mean to hurt you-"

"I don't want your apologies, _sport-o_. I'm not your problem." Allison said, turned around and glaring at him, her face flustered, "Go. Away."

Andy didn't like she called him that but he stood his ground, "No, I'm not going anywhere until this is solved."

"There's nothing to solve!" Allison said, pushing him roughly on his chest, but she hardly moved him. She continued, "Go back to your awe-inspiring crowd of meatheads and galpals. I'm _not_ interested."

Andy shrugged his shoulders roughly, "I am."

Allison looked at him strangely for a moment, but her eyes turned incredibly suspicious, "I don't appreciate being used. Or ignored."

"I would never used you. Or ignore you." Andy said looking at her and taking a step forward and Allison backed up. Andy continued, finding what he was trying to say very difficult, "I...just...didn't want you...looking at me, that way..."

Allison furrowed her eyebrows, still clearly upset, but she said, "What way?"

"Like.." Andy sighed, his hands on his forehead and not looking at her directly, "like as if I were pathetic, like I couldn't do anything..."

Allison crossed her arms and stared at him, not saying anything and this made him feel very uncomfortable. He frowned as he placed his hands around one of the shelves, trying to keep his thoughts busy with something other than Allison's face.

"You aren't pathetic. Andy." Allison whispered, placing a hesitant hand on the arm of his jacket.

"I feel like it." Andy replied, roughly, his eyes closed now.

"Because you hurt your ankle?" Allison asked. Andy looked at her, she was giving him a small smile, "Or...because...you still can't make decisions without wondering what your father would say, first?"

Andy didn't know how to reply as he shrugged, looking away again, "Both, I guess."

Allison didn't say anything, her hand still on his arm. Andy turned his head to peer at her and sighed, wondering if she was still angry with him. It didn't seem like it; she was smiling and wasn't looking at him with death in her eyes.

"I have to go back to work." Allison finally said, trying to push past him, but he didn't move, "Move, Andy."

Andy refused, making another decision all on his own. He reached and placed his arms around Allison, giving her a tight squeeze, his face between her neck and shoulder. He felt her tense, but he didn't let her go and she slowly relaxed. He felt her arms around him and they stood there for a long time.

* * *

Claire was at the library again in her usual corner, not really working on anything. She just liked the silence. She was staring at the window, waiting for Brian, who was late. Lunch was almost over and he still hadn't shown up. Claire was about to get up when she turned her head to see Brian walking quickly toward her. He was breathing heavily when he stopped in front of her.

"Sorry...I'm...late." Brian said, taking a seat and trying to catch his breath, "Science project...ran...late."

Claire smiled at him, "I didn't think you'd show up."

"Sorry." Brian said with a shrug, "How are you?"

"I'm okay." Claire said, looking at him, "How are you?"

Brian nodded, swallowing, "Good. Had to come up with a diorama to show my mom."

"What, why?" Claire asked him.

Brian explained to her that he had lied about Allison when she came to visit him a few days ago, telling her about pizza and his mother's first impression. This caused Claire to laugh so much, her stomach was hurting when she was done.

"It's not that funny." Brian said, smiling at her.

"It's very funny." Claire replied, wiping her eyes. She paused, feeling thoughtful, "I haven't seen her since Saturday."

"I'm a little worried about her." Brian said, slowly, "She usually meets up with me and my friends at lunch, but she hasn't been there for a few days now."

Claire frowned as the bell rang and the two of them stood up to head to the class they shared, their thoughts on Allison. The first time they walked into geometry together, whispers filled the room but Claire simply glared at them and the talks stopped. Now, it wasn't so unusual, but rumours were spreading about the two of them dating. Brian was very nervous about these rumours, feeling agitated and obligated to tell them and Claire that he didn't feel that way at all.

At first, Claire was bothered, having realised who she was actually hanging out with. Then she realised, Brian was what an actual friend was like. He was supportive and helpful when she needed it. He didn't criticise her, make fun of mistakes she made, and perhaps at times, he was impressed by the things she had, but he didn't dwell on it. She's never experienced that sort of friendship before and she rather liked it. It wasn't until the near end of the day when she found another one. Another true friend.

Claire was now driving away from dropping off Allison for work. She felt happy. It had been a good day. A good week. She got an "A" on her history presentation, she stood up for herself and then stood up for Allison, and she didn't even feel bad about any of it. It was a daily occurrence that she and Brian could be found studying together, laughing together, eating together in the library and she was hoping she would see Allison often as well. Claire realised that not once did either Brian or Allison make a comment about her appearance. The moment she saw Deborah and the others, they either complained or criticised. She honestly never realised how very negative they were, she was. Yeah, it was a good week.

Then she frowned. She hadn't seen John in days. She could be honest and say she was worried. She had no idea where he was and she could only guess what happened in his own home. She received a sudden picture in her head of John lying in the grass somewhere, dead. She hook her head from the thought, scaring herself silly. She sighed softly, wondering where he could possibly be. Claire didn't know where he lived, what his phone number was. She didn't know anything about him and she knew he did that on purpose.

Claire felt a chill in her chest and started to think that maybe he was simply avoiding her. Maybe he didn't want to be seen with her at all. Maybe he thought she was embarrassing and not worth the time. _Christ, Claire!_ She was driving herself crazy for someone she hardly knew. He was exciting, and passionate, and saw through her so clearly it hurt, but that's all he was. He couldn't be relied on. He was too mysterious, too roguish, too...dangerous. He was just too much of a lot of things she shouldn't be part of. She reminded herself this was her last school year and John was just part of a high school experience.

But Claire didn't like that.

She suddenly felt her stomach growl. She didn't want to go home, she might as well get some food. She wanted bad food, too, something fried and greasy. Claire looked around the area she was, looking for anything that would strike her fancy.

Burger King. No.

Taco Bell. Nope.

Wendy's. No.

Kentucky Friend Chicken.

Sounds good. Claire used her car turn signal and made a turn into the plaza. She found a parking spot relatively close to the restaurant. Out of habit, she pulled down her rearview mirror to look at her reflection, then stopped herself, closing her eyes and placing a hand over the mirror. She pulled out the key from her ignition and placed them in her purse before stepping out of the car. She closed her door and made her way into the restaurant, suddenly feeling very nervous.

Her eyes wandered around her as she stared at the other patrons nearby. All of them turned to look at her, other eyes staring longer than others, but Claire was very aware how much she stood out. Her clothes were expensive as was the jewellery she had and the make-up she wore. Everything she was wearing was designer. She swallowed and held up her head, walking toward the cashier's to order her food.

"Welcome to Kentucky Fried Chicken." said a bored voice of a rather pimply boy looking very unhappy.

Claire ordered the large thing of chicken and chips on the side as well as a soda. The cashier took the money Claire was handing her and she was told to wait to the side while her food was getting ready. She took the empty cup and made her way over to the fountain soda machine and filled up her cup with Sprite. She placed the plastic top on her cup and turned, waiting for her food. Her number was called and placing her cup on her tray, she walked over to the wind, ignoring the looks she was receiving. She sat down on a two-seater and placed her chicken in front of her. She reached for one but didn't eat because she finally noticed a familiar face sitting across from her. Claire's heart stopped and the chicken dropped from her hand.

* * *

John stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. There was still a bruise on his face, but it looked worse than it felt. He rubbed his eyes and stretched slowly, feeling the bruises on the rest of his body. He retreated back into the guest room and saw his brother sleeping soundly, Ducky close by. He opened the door to the room and stepped out, heading for the kitchen. Tess was already up and making breakfast, dancing to a song on the radio. John could smell eggs in the frying plan and could see plates with slices of bread on them; quite inviting.

"Morning." John said, chuckling at her dance.

"Morning, John." Tess said, looking behind her and smiling at him, "Hungry?"

"Yeah, let me just get Mark." John said walking back through the small house and into the room.

He kneeled down beside the bed and stroked his bother's forehead before calling his name, "Marky. Mar-ky."

His brother stirred, his bright eyes fluttering before he focused and saw his brother's face. He smiled at John and yawned then turned his head to reach for Ducky. He found the toy and began to chew on it and turned his back to John.

"Come on, Mark." John said, standing, "Let's get out of bed. Aunt Tess made us some food. Ready?"

Mark yawned again and then struggled out of the covers before sliding off the bed and leading the way out. John knew Mark felt comfortable here, he's been here enough. Mark and John arrived in the kitchen just as Tess was finishing up the eggs and placing them on their respective plates. John reached for Tess's and Mark's plate and placing them on a small table. He picked up Mark and positioned him on a chair in front of the food. He turned to see Tess handing him a plate and a fork before sitting in front of her own plate. John chose to stand and eat.

"Tom's coming today, Mark." Tess said, smiling at John's baby brother, "Wanna play with him?"

Mark slowly nodded his head as he trying to cut the egg with his spoon. John had already shovelled his entire plate of food into his mouth and was washing his dish. He reached for a glass and filled it with water before filling two more cups and setting them down on the table where Tess and Mark were sitting at.

"What are you going to do today, John?" Tess asked, slowly eating her own food, while she wiped Mark's mouth with a spare napkin.

"Fix a few things." John said, draining another glass and placing it in the sink, "All I need is day."

"I get it, John." Tess said, looking at him, "Take your time. Just...be careful, okay?"

"Thanks, Tess." John said, going back into the spare room and reaching for his coats. He looked around the room and in the gym bag he brought with him, but there was nothing he needed. He came out of the room and placed a hand on Mark's head tenderly, "I'll be back tonight. His stuff is in the room. Uh..do you have any cigarettes?"

Tess had a hand on under her chin and was looking at him before answering, "Yeah, sure. On the counter. Take them all if you want. I need to quit."

"So do I." John replied, looking at the counter and see a packet of Malboro's. He placed his hand on the entire box, then stopped. He opened up the package and reached for four and dropped them into his shirt pocket. He sighed, "Okay. I'm gonna go. Bye, Mark. See you you later?"

Mark looked up at John with a smile, before focusing his attention on his food and muttering, "Love you."

John smiled, "Love you." He gave a nod to Tess and walked out the door.

He made his way over to the closest Home Depot, two cigarettes already smoked. Tess allowed John to take his car, which made everything he needed to do today that much easier. He threw his cigarette out the open window of the car and looked behind him to make sure the seats were down before stepping out. He walked across the car park and onto the sidewalk before reaching for the handle of the doors and pushed them open. He moved through the aisles doing the same march he had been for years and every step made him angrier. By the time he had gotten to doors he looked at the variety. He couldn't go cheap anymore. He needed something strong and sturdy. Something his father couldn't bust through. Then reinforce it.

It took awhile, but he was finally satisfied with a thick oak door. He also found cylinder guards for a lock and two more locks for the top and bottom of the door and a new set of keys, screws, and thicker strike plates and hinges. He brought these to the cashier and used up all the money Tess had given him. He cursed the door, his mother, his father, and the whole fucking house. He grunted as he carried his purchases toward Tess's car. He opened up the trunk of her station wagon and placed the door inside, closing the trunk. He walked around the car and made his way back inside, and turning on the ignition. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, but paused. He'll save it.

He drove the car out of the car park and into the street toward his house. He parked on the street outside his parents' home and pulled out his purchases. He walked over to the side of the house toward his window and gently lay the heavy door against the wall. He placed his hands under the window and pushed it open. The broken door was still on his bed and nothing else seemed to have changed. He could hear nothing either. He stepped inside his room, staying close to the floor. He didn't want to make a sound. He slowly crept toward the back of his bureau and reached for the tools he stashed there. Once he retrieved them, he hopped out of his window and went to work.

It took nearly two hours before John was satisfied with his door. He stood up, looking at his handiwork before walking over to the front door and turning the handle. It was still unlocked from last night. He took a step in and tried to listen. He couldn't hear anything. It was dark inside, the curtains drawn. He peered around the doors and could see the food that fell from last night still on the floor, but still no sign of his father. He continued walking down the hallway, passing by his parents' room. There wasn't any noise coming from there either. Was his mother gone as well. John hesitated before going into his room and looked over his shoulder. He should still check. The laundry room was empty and so was his parents'. No one was home. Luck had turned for him.

John walked back outside to pick up the door and moved back in the house, placing the door against the doorframe, glad his father didn't destroy that too. It was another hour before John was finished with the door completely. He stepped inside his room and closed the door, locking it with a key. He pushed the door with a hand liking how solid it was, then he shoved a shoulder into it. The door hardly moved. John sighed in relief and stowing his new set of keys into his pocket, he climbed back out his window and shut it.

John had thanked Tess for everything she had done and he and Mark were given food and a ride back to his parents at dusk. As usual, John opened the window and climbed in before reaching for Mark and setting him inside as well. John rubbed his eyes as he dropped his things on the floor, feeling incredibly tired. He yawned widely and reached into his pocket for his door keys. He turned the switch for the light and Mark staring up at him. John placed a finger t his lips and Mark mimicked this as he opened his new door. Cautiously, he peered outside of it. He didn't see anything, but he heard the television from his parents' bedroom and the other one from the living room. Back to normal. He sighed softly, feeling relief. No problems so far. He looked over at Mark who was quietly trying to climb up on the bed. John smiled, then frowned. He was going to have to work hard for the next few days to make up all the money Tess had given him all month. He sighed as he pushed Mark into bed and climbed into it as well after kicking off his shoes.

By the time Friday came around, John managed to work back a little over half of the money Tess had loaned him and she didn't mind working him hard, either. He lifted, pulled, placed, rearranged, even constructed several things around the bar. John really didn't have a problem, he was determined to work and he never liked being in debt with anyone, no matter who it was. During the time he worked, he didn't go to school. This was a possible problem, but he pushed it to the back of his mind, not wanting to bother with it. What was even better, his door seemed to have done the trick and he knew his brother Mark was going to be safe. He left it unlocked during the day for his brother if he wanted to go to the bathroom, but _always_ locked it at night.

At the end of the day that Friday, John was ready to leave. He said his goodbyes and walked out, feeling hungry. Outside, John reached in his pockets for a cigarette, but he had run out, again. Sighing softly, he began walking toward home, his eyes peeled for a place to buy food and feed himself and Mark. He found a KFC and made his way toward him and stopped when he spotted someone familiar. He blinked, his feelings surprising him. He actually missed her. He allowed himself a small smile and walked in.

He stood at the entrance watching her for a moment. She looked completely out of her element in her designer clothes, surrounded by hard-working, tough-talking men and women who wore whatever they had washed and in their closets. Colours, accessories-they were just secondary items that gave them no interest. John smile broadened as he made his way over and sat directly across from her.

* * *

Brian was tired. He had stayed up the night before trying to finish the bullshit diorama for his science class. He sighed angrily and upset, wondering why he couldn't come up with something more simple than the ocean ecosystem. _Because_, Brian told himself, _if it were too simple, his mother would know he was lying._ He frowned as he walked inside his room from the last day of school that week. He stared at his finished project that was sitting quietly on his desk. He had cut out a shoebox and placed different oceanic animals inside, all drawn and coloured by Allison who, to Brian's great relief, was willing to help, still laughing at Brian's stupidity. He admitted he was stupid, but if his mother found out he lied to her, he doubted she would be very happy, then he would never be able to see his friends.

He wondered when he should show his mother, but he shrugged, not caring that much. If she wanted to see it, she would ask, and he, at least, covered all his bases. Unless she called his teacher. Brian widened his eyes, panicking, then relaxed. He shook his head angrily, she never called before. Still.

_Shut up, Brian._

Brian did. He placed his backpack beside his bed and pulled out his books, placing them on the table. He didn't feel like working, he didn't feel like do anything. He walked out of his room and down the stairs where he saw his mother starting to cook dinner and his father reading the newspaper. He stood there, staring at the both of them. His mother was banging cupboards and drawers as busied herself with dinner,mutterings things under her breath and looking angry. His father was reading the paper, looking quite occupied as he drank coffee from his mug. His father noticed him first and gave him an awkward smile.

"Hey, bud." His dad said, looking at him over the paper and peering at him over his thick glasses.

"Hey, dad-" Brian started, but his mother interrupted him.

"Brian, don't you have any homework?" His other said, looking over her shoulder angrily before turning back to her pots, "Get started on it and finish, then."

"He's just saying hello, Merc-" Brian's dad started.

"I don't care." His mother replied, looking at her husband, "He's still in trouble in my book and he should be focused on his studies and nothing else."

Brian's dad didn't say anything, as he reached for his cup, but missed and Brian watched as the mug fell off the table and spilled all over the floor. His father cursed and his mother screamed at the mess he just made and the usual argument ensued. Brian sighed and walked away, annoyed. He turned around to see hi sister sitting on the floor, playing with her dolls and their cars and houses. Brian suddenly felt sorry for his sister.

Kids were observant, even if otherwise, it didn't seem like it. When her parents fight, Mary was quiet, listening to everything her parents said. He wondered what she thought then, while she sat quietly. Brian wandered over and sat beside her. Mary looked up at him and smiled before turning back to her dolls. He was about to ask her what she was playing before he was interrupted.

"Brian!"

He looked up to see his mother, her hands on her hips and her face livid.

Brian sighed and stood up, heading for the stairs and ignoring whatever his mother was screaming at him. He ignored her all the way to his room and until he closed his bedroom door. He leaned against his door frowning, wondering what Allison and Claire were doing. He had managed to run into the two of them before they left the school. Claire was giving Allison a ride to school and this surprised him greatly. He was happy, though. He never thought he would be friends with either of them in his lifetime. He remembered fantasising about it at times when he saw Claire laughing with her friends and the other popular people in the hallways, but then reality came back. He paused, wondering if he was still dreaming, but no, he really wasn't, and he could truly say popular princess Claire and basketcase freak Allison were his friends. He smiled to himself, feeling proud as he walked over to his bed and fell into it, placing his hands behind his head.

* * *

_Just a bit shorter, my dears._


	6. Chapter 6

_My goal is to make them all your favourite characters..._

* * *

Allison looked up every so often, her eyes on Andy sitting at the table that was beside the small performance stage that had been set up. She had to give herself a smile as she watched him; he looked uncomfortable and bored but he decided to stick around, at least for awhile. She wasn't sure of his intention, but she really liked that he was here. Allison found Andy's decision impressive and surprising because it was something he chose to do, even when he gave a list of all the worries he was suffering from, he still chose to stay. She had no intention in letting this go. Ever.

"Not really part of the daily crowd, huh?" Greg said beside her as he pulled out an old record of The Ramones and putting in one of The Clash's albums, _"Combat Rock."_

Allison shrugged, another glance at Andy from her sorting. He was sitting back, his head bobbing as if he were trying not to fall asleep, "I like him."

"What do you see in that guy?" Greg asked her, moving away from the record player and watching Andy, too, "He's...he's a..."

"A what?" Allison challenged, turning to face Greg.

Greg seemed to have trouble finding the words until he blurted, "Jock, meathead, the guy who picked on dweebs for fun. The guy who would pick on you, us, for kicks. That."

Allison paused, then frowned, looking back at her sorting, "Maybe he was at one point. Not anymore."

"People don't just change, Allison." Greg said to her, writing out the albums they had and what they might need. He'd have to check the back, "They just suppress their initial ideals to impress another. He's got a motive. You're just too head over heels to notice."

"Oh, shut up, Greg." Allison replied with a sigh. She was used to Greg's rather cynical view of the world, but this was about Andy, and she felt slightly more protective, "You just don't know him."

"That's classic." Greg said to her retreating back as she left the counter to talk to Andy. She rolled her eyes as he continued, "You'll see, Allison. You'll realise he's a man and all men are the same; all we want is sex."

Allison crossed through the room, nodding her head at the usual patrons looking through the numerous amounts of records. A lot of people were surprisingly aware of Underground Records, but it was a small group of people. A place where all sorts of music was starting to make their way to the industry. It also helped there was a stage where anyone could preform, no matter who they were or what they wanted to do. It was underground, after all. At the moment, there was some sort of odd play of three people dressed in colourful body suits. Allison had no idea what they were doing, but she was enjoying the different colours.

She stood beside Andy, his arms folded on the table and his head lying on them. His eyes were closed and Allison found him to be very cute. She bent down to peer at him. His eyes were moving under his eyelids and his breathing was steady. Her eyes followed him all the way to the boot he wore and she felt herself feeling sorry for him. Slightly. She lifted a hand and tapped him on the shoulder.

Andy opened his eyes and sat up straight breathing in heavily as he stretched. He turned his head to see Allison staring at him. He gave her a small smile, "Hi."

"Hey." Allison said, smiling back, "I know you said you'd stay. You can leave, you know."

"What, I like it here." Andy said, suddenly frowning at what was happening on the stage. His mouth opened slightly as he stared, clearly confused.

Allison giggled, "Liar. Just go. I won't be done for awhile, anyway. You have a father to deal with, don't you?"

Andy looked at her for a moment, unfocused, and then she watched his face turn from understanding to regretful. Obviously, he was not looking forward to speaking to his father.

"Damn."

"You've gotta talk to him, sometime." Allison said, shrugging, "Better now than later."

"I'd rather it be later." Andy muttered, but he stood and stretched again, "I'll be grounded. He'll let me go to the meet, though. Won't be able to do anything else."

Allison noticed his sidelong glance and raised an eyebrow, "Blow it off."

"He'll be there with me. Saying shit as we watch. Telling me what I could be doing if I didn't hurt my ankle." Andy was getting increasingly bitter as he spoke and Allison touched his arm. He stopped at her touch and stared at her.

Allison gave him a small smile, "It's okay. Aren't you looking forward to the meet, anyway?"

Andy nodded.

"Just cheer your guys on, your teammates. Wrestling...mates?" Allison said, walking toward the entrance of the store, Andy beside her.

"Yeah."

"Hurry up, Allison." She heard Greg say.

She turned and gave him a wave before turning back to Andy and saying, "He doesn't like you very much."

"Really?" Andy said, looking over her shoulder and frowning.

Allison raised her eyebrows, "He said you aren't picking on me because you'd rather be doing something else."

Andy stared at her.

Allison nodded, "Yup. He said all you want from me is sex."

Andy blushed and Allison smiled broadly at this.

"That isn't true, Allison." Andy said, looking incredibly embarrassed and Allison was enjoying every moment of it, "I care about you. It isn't like that at all."

"'At all'?" Allison pressed, "Not even a little? Don't you find me sexy?"

"Yes...no? Wait..." Andy opened his mouth and didn't quite look her in the eye, "Well...I...uhm..."

Allison let out a laugh, not able to help herself any longer. Surprised at her bravery, she placed a hand softly on his face before standing on her toes and giving him a small kiss on the lips. He was surprised as well and he smiled, leaning forward again. Allison didn't mind. In fact, she found herself incredibly comfortable in his arms.

* * *

Andy hobbled over to his car, feeling happy but apprehensive. He looked at his watch and noticed there was about ten minutes left before practice was officially over. He sighed, he was gone for an hour, it would be obvious Andy was gone, his was hoping practice went over, that was known to happen. His stuff was strewn all over the benches, supposedly looking for Winters. Winters was probably there, in practice, but Andy was still missing. He had no idea how Nease was going to react. His worst fear was his coach calling home to find out if Andy went home.

He felt the pit of his stomach turn as he continued driving toward the school. He could see it in the distance and eventually found himself in the car park. There were still cars in the lot from teachers ad other students for whatever reasons. He sighed as he reached for his key and hopped out. He slowly made his way to the gym, trying to come up with a reason for his absence. He couldn't really think of one except the truth and that would be a mistake.

He exhaled and pushed the doors open, feeling a warm air blow into his face. He walked through and followed the hallway into the main gym. He could hear his coach blowing his whistle and yelling at his teammates to get their asses moving. He could see his things right where he had left them across the gym. He'd have to walk past his coach and teammates to get to his things. He sighed.

He swallowed and continued walking, trying to act as if nothing happened. He kept his focus on his things although he could feel Nease's eyes on him, but he ignored them. He made his way to the bench and sat down heavily, feeling a pressure on his ankle. He lifted up his leg and placed it on the bench beside him. He reached for his homework, his goal to work on it, but that wasn't working at all. He heard the last of Nease's whistle and his teammates stood up from the floor, putting their mats away.

"Clark."

Andy looked up and noticed Paul Duggan walking over to him, his face sweaty as he sat beside him with a tired sigh, "Where were you, man?"

"Out." Andy said with a shrug.

"You were with that chick, weren't you?" Paul said after a pause, watching him carefully, "The quiet one you met up with."

Andy didn't reply, not sure how he should be feeling. Paul was probably his closest, oldest friend. He knew almost everything about Andy, including his cocksure father and had some idea of the pressure Andy often faced. Andy respected Paul's opinion most of the time. He wasn't sure what Paul was going to say either, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Paul stared at Andy, "Why are you having trouble admitting to it?"

Andy opened his mouth than closed it with a shrug, "Dunno."

"Hmm." Paul said with a nod, "Well, she's...different."

Andy suddenly took defence to this, "How's that?"

"She's not like your other girlfriends, Andy." Paul said, standing up, "She looks like she has opinions."

Andy allowed himself a small smile as he watched Paul turn and walk toward the showers. He reached for his paper again and started stuffing it into his bag, feeling distracted. He liked what Paul said, and he felt even better that Paul approved. He had never approved of any of Andy's girlfriends before, often calling them airheads and bimbettes. Andy had to admit, he certainly attracted a certain type of girl, and he honestly liked the attention. Allison was different though, and he felt she was worth pursuing. Andy was still smiling as he stood up slowly and saw Nease walking away from the lockers and heading in his direction.

"Hey, coach."

"Clark." Nease said, looking at him, a slight frown on his face, "You disappeared."

"Sorry. Won't happen again." Andy told him, his thoughts of Allison pushed away for a moment.

"Winters showed up a little after you left. He said he hadn't seen you either."

Andy nodded his head, wondering what Nease was getting at.

His coach paused, "You still coming to the meet?"

"Yeah. Dad would make sure of it."

Nease nodded, "Okay."

Andy looked at him, "Did you call him?"

"No, Clark, I didn't. I wanted to, but I didn't." Nease told hims reassuringly. Andy felt himself relax and his coach continued, "I don't know what you're up to, Clark. Just be careful, okay? Your dad has a lot riding on you."

Andy was fully aware of that.

Nease didn't say anything, merely placed a hand on Andy's shoulder before walking away back toward his office. Andy turned to reach for the strap of his bag and placed it across his shoulder. He looked around the deserted gym than the benches to see if he had picked up all his things. Habitually reaching for his back pocket to see if he still had his keys and wallet, he hobbled over toward the exit of the gym.

Andy was distracted. He hardly remembered walking to his car or even driving home. He didn't recall walking through the front door of his parents' house or hear his father calling for him as he made his way to his room. His mind not thinking about wrestling for once, or what his father might say to him when he got home. He had lied to Allison. He wasn't looking forward to the match tomorrow. He just wanted to be with her. Andy fell into his bed, placing his keys on the table beside him and turned over so that he was lying on his stomach.

How could he tell her that, though? Allison seemed to know everything about him and yet, he hardly knew anything about her. He had thoughts about somehow missing the meet tomorrow, but he dismissed these quickly. His father would never let him miss the meet. He'd kill Andy and drag him if he had to. He amused himself by thinking of breaking his legs but obviously, that was incredibly stupid. He wanted to see her this weekend, not go to a fucking meet.

Andy sat up, looking at the different trophies he had on his bookshelves, the awards on the walls, for baseball, swimming, long-distance running. This time, his father chose wrestling. His father chose. Andy bit the inside of his mouth, looking at the keys on his table. He reached for them, staring, trying to make a decision. If he left now, his father was going to be very angry. He was supposed to act as if he had the meet tomorrow, as if his ankle wasn't twisted. Andy stood up, his heart beating. _No,_ he thought, _no. _Andy moved quickly out of his room and down the stairs. He ran toward the front door and pulled it open.

"Andrew? The hell are you doing? Where're you going?"

Andy didn't stop. He stormed outside, his father calling him but Andy ignored him. Andy knew if he stopped, he would change his mind. He reached his car and twisted is keys into the lock. His father's voice ringing in his ears, demanding he get back in the house. Andy refused. He opened his car door, closed it as hard as he could, drowning out his father's voice. Turned on the ignition and drove down the driveway. He had never felt so scared and free.

* * *

"You're okay..." Claire said, surprising herself greatly. Her eyes widened and she placed her fingers on her mouth, her cheeks burning.

"'Course, I am." John replied staring at her, "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Forget it." Claire said, focusing on her chicken.

John was smiling at her, smugly, as if he knew a secret. Claire couldn't take it anymore and dropped her uneaten chicken once more.

"What?" she said, feeling very shy and looked away.

John leaned forward and spoke so softly, Claire had to lean forward to hear him, although reluctantly, "Didn't think to find you here, Princess."

Claire frowned at him, "I wanted to eat something."

"Here?" John asked her disbelievingly.

"I was hungry." Claire said, leaning back and crossing her arms.

John smiled mischievously, "Trying to see if you can hang with the rest of the working-class? Or are you just lost and too embarrassed to leave?"

Claire narrowed her eyes, feeling annoyed, "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?" John asked innocently, leaning back in his chair.

"Try to get under everyone's skin?" Claire asked, "Is this your life-time goal? Keep as many people as possible just at arm's length? Make sure everyone hates you when they first meet you?"

John's smile had vanished and he simply stared at Claire, not responding.

"That's it, isn't it?" she said, frowned, "What's wrong with you? Don't you even care that someone might worry about you? Might think you're lying in a ditch somewhere?"

She couldn't really understand what was going on in his head, his face studying her, almost as if trying to see if Claire was even real. She had opened her mouth and all her thoughts cam tumbling out and she couldn't stop herself. She never felt so upset and so relieved at the same time.

Claire's frown deepened as she continued, "You have this shield, this 'don't-care' attitude, but I know you're vulnerable even if you don't want to show it. Look around, John."

Claire sighed at his silence, then stood up, walking away from her table, the food, and John. Feeling angry and frustrated, she marched to the entrance and pulled one of the double doors that led inside of the restaurant. What bothered her the most was how little John had to do to make her so irritated. He made her flustered and unable to think properly. She sighed to herself, her footsteps light against the pavement as she quickly made her way to her car not paying attention to an oncoming car.

Claire jumped at the sound of the horn and backed off, breathing hard, her eyes fluttering as her hand went to her chest. She could feel her heart beating hard and tried to ignore the curses in her direction, nervously tightening her coat around her. She waited until the car passed before walking again, her awareness heightened until she got to her car. She reached into her purse and looked for her keys. Claire finally found them and placed them in her lock. She pulled the handle, opening her door, but another hand appeared and pushed it closed. She looked up and saw John beside her, his face unreadable. He had her tray in his hand and placed it on the top of her car.

"Go away, John." Claire didn't want to put up with him, reaching for the handle again, but John, leaned against her door, his hands in his pockets, his face looking down. She crossed her arms and asked, "Can you move, please?"

He didn't and muttered something.

"What?" Claire said impatiently.

"You're right."

Claire felt very taken aback and blinked at this response. She dropped her arms and stared at him, his face still looking somewhere by his feet. She opened her mouth and asked softly, "Right about what?"

"Everything." John said, looking up and crossing his arms, "About what you said, inside."

Claire was aware John was obviously trying to avoid her gaze. She stared at him for a moment before following his example and leaned against her door beside him, "Oh. Well, can you tell me why?"

John shook his head, "Nope."

Claire wasn't sure if he was answering the question or choosing not to and she didn't want to push it. She was about to say something, feeling awkward when she realised John was staring at her, making her feel even more uncomfortable. She tried to turn her head away but couldn't as his face was closer. Her eyes moved to his lips, hungry for them. _This was wrong_, she kept telling herself, _wrong, wrong_.

"Glad I'm not dead?" John asked her softly.

"Maybe..." Claire replied, coyly.

"You don't hate me, do you?" He was closer now, his hair falling over his face.

"A little..." Claire replied, almost in a whisper. She swallowed.

"I can live with that." John said, smiling, leaning forward.

Claire enjoyed how their lips touched. He was soft but passionate and she felt his arms around her waist as he pulled her toward him, his back against her car again. Claire had raised her hands and placed them over his neck, standing on her toes. She didn't remember ever enjoying kisses as much as she did these. They were experienced and adventurous and so very sensual.

Claire then moved away, her thoughts all over the place and she wasn't sure what to listen to. John gave her a curious look, her arms were still around his neck, his hands on her waist. Claire sighed wondering what she should do. She knew what she wanted, but she wasn't sure John would help fulfil it. Maybe she was just a romantic, but she had no interest in being used and if this was what it was, she was just going to have to learn to forget about him. A prospect Claire did not want, but what other choice did she have?

"What is it?" John asked her.

"Just wondering..." Claire started, looking at him. She took in a breath and let it out, "Wondering what we're doing. What _I'm_ doing."

"Kissing." John said simply, then grinned at her, "We can change it up, if you like."

"You have no idea what I'm talking about?" Claire said, frowning, "Or you just refuse to acknowledge it?"

John dropped his hands and placed them behind his back, not saying anything. Claire did the same, taking a step back. He knew exactly what she was talking about and he obviously did not want to deal with it. Something was holding him back. Claire wanted to know, she really did, but something about his closed-off attitude scared her. Perhaps, she was a coward, but she wasn't going to push it. John was different, new, and she didn't know how to deal with him. She had relations before, of course she did. She was often pushed into them...and they were _not_ John.

"Fine. You don't want to talk about it." Claire said, finally. He was still looking away, but she knew he was listening and she continued feeling somewhat rambunctious, "I do care about you and I still want to be your friend, even if you don't."

John looked at her, slightly surprised, but his face then changed slightly, and she was no loner able to read it.

Claire continued with a shrug, "I'll give you a ride home."

He didn't respond right away. He then stood up straight and exhaled, "Okay. Can I drive?"

Claire raised an eyebrow.

* * *

John didn't get to drive but he had never once been in such an expensive car and kept himself busy by exploring it. There were all sorts of small cubbies and pull-out drawers, filled with so much...crap; tissues, make-up, hair-things, receipts; a lot of receipts. None of the items seemed very necessary. And buttons. So many buttons with small pictures on them that made no sense to him. He could hear Claire laughing beside him, enjoying his curiosity and he was trying not to show it on his face, but he liked that laugh. It was cute and forgiving.

When he had finished exploring, he leaned back against his very comfortable chair and closed his eyes. No, he didn't want to talk about it. What was the point? It'll be over as fast as it began. He kept telling himself it was a fling, a short relationship, give her what she wanted to keep her happy, even if it was limited. He knew Claire wanted something more serious, but he couldn't commit to that. Especially not now...not ever. John furrowed his eyebrows, not liking how that sounded. For once, he wanted something just for himself. He wanted to be selfish.

"Long week?" Claire asked as they were on the road, "Hadn't seen you in school for awhile."

"Missed me?" John teased.

Claire paused then chose to ignore the question as she stared out of her windshield, "I guess you didn't get enough sleep."

John chose not to answer. Wasn't her business, was it?

"You don't smell like cigarettes." Claire began again. A feeble attempt at starting conversation. See, this is why he doesn't have relationships. You don't fucking say anything, "Quitting?"

"Why are you talking so much?" John asked, staring at her. "Make a left here."

"I asked you first." Claire replied, turning her wheel.

John crossed his arms, "Maybe."

"That's good. I hate that smell."

"That hurts, Princess." John said, smiling at her.

"And your kisses are what I think is the equivalent to licking an ash tray." Claire replied, that gave him a look as she turned into his neighbourhood, "We won't have to worry about that anymore, will we?"

"What?" John asked, feeling curious, "Worry about what?"

"Kissing." Claire responded, slowing her car down, "Where do we go from here?"

John stared at her then, "Straight. Then make a right at the end of the road."

"I see Brian and Allison a lot." Claire continued, driving past the small houses. She turned at the end of the street.

"Stop here." John said suddenly and Claire did.

He could see his parents' house from a distance but something was wrong. He didn't know what it was, but his gut feeling was telling him he needed to be aware. His immediate thought was Mark, but his baby brother was just fine. He had been for the past few days. He was panicking, that's all and it wasn't unusual for him to be paranoid.

"John?" Claire was asking him.

John looked at her. She was curious and worried, a small crease between her eyebrows. He was very close to saying something, but closed his mouth and shook his head. He stuffed the chips inside with the chicken and opened up his door before stepping out. He leaned over to take one last look at Claire and gave her a wave and closed the door. He turned and started walking swiftly toward his parents' house, the food in his hand, his focus on Mark. He made his way to his window and peered in. Nothing was out of the ordinary. His door was closed even if he couldn't see Mark.

He reached for the window and tried to push it up, but it didn't work. He frowned, dropping the food from his hand. He placed both hands on the window and pushed it up, groaning with effort. He couldn't do it. _The fuck?_ He thought. He hesitated before walking around to the front of the house. His stomach was fluttering. Something was wrong. _Fuck!_He needed to find Mark. He burst through the front door of his house, ready for another fight and he stopped short.

John's eyes widened as he looked around. His house was clean. Very clean. There wasn't any rubbish on the floor, food was gone, and there was a new smell in the air, like an lemony kind of smell, a clean smell. Old marks on the walls were repainted over and window curtains were open. That's when his eyes wandered over to the living room of four different figures standing. His parents caught his eyes first. Both of them wore good, clean clothing. His father was wearing a suit with a yellow tie, his face a malicious look in his eye, his mother was wearing make-up and a dress he hadn't seen since he was Mark's age, she was looking downcast and hardly seemed to know anyone else was in the room.

"Where's Mark?" John asked, walking toward his parents.

"That's him, officer." his father said, a sneer in his voice, "That's who kidnapped my boy."

"Where's _Mark_?" John yelled again, feeling his hands forced behind his back and the sound of handcuffs. He could heard his rights being read, but he ignored them as he was steered out of the house, "Where the _fuck_ is Mark?! Mark?!"

John was angry. Fucking angry. He wasn't sure if his temper would hold. He was trying. Trying so very hard, but he had only one fear and that was Mark. He didn't know where his brother was, and his vulnerability was riding on his sleeve. He didn't know what to do. He was lost. His only one goal in life was gone, taken from him and he had no one to blame but himself. He wanted to protect Mark, take him away, keep him safe and he failed. He _fucking_ failed. He had ridden in the back of a non-discreet police car, his heart in his throat. He could hardly remember the ride, or when the officers drove him into the station. He didn't even remember the interrogation. He said nothing because there was absolutely nothing to say. The officers eventually told him to wait inside a cell with about four other people. Where the fuck was his brother?

"_Fuck_!" He yelled, his temper finally getting a hold of him.

"Hey, shut up!" said another officer, glaring at John.

John looked away, trying very hard not to let his temper get the better of him. He was given the option of calling someone; but he could think of no one. Tess? No, he wouldn't drag her into this. He hadn't been officially booked yet. Apparently, there was a line. Although, maybe it was just a ruse. He didn't know, and at the moment, he didn't care. Where the fuck was Mark?

"Kid!"

John looked up. Another officer, not one of his arresting officers, was pointing at him, "Move it."

He swallowed, standing up and walking toward the waiting officer. John turned and allowed himself to be handcuffed and was steered toward a door. The officer pressed a button, waited until a heavy buzz rang and the doors and the officer pushed the door open. John continued walking, his thoughts running all over the place. Was he going to be booked? Could they arrest him? He wasn't even of legal age. Yet.

John was moved into another cell, his wrists uncuffed and the heavy cell door closed behind him. He was in a rather isolated area with more cells but each one had a single person in it, apparently waiting for something.

He looked at the officer's retreating back, "What's going on?"

"You have a visitor." said the officer and through the buzzing doors he went.

_Visitor..._John thought, questioningly. Another buzz and there stood someone he never thought he'd see.

"Claire." he said, before he could stop himself, "How did you...?"

Claire sighed softly before giving him a small smile and walked over to him, "I watched you go inside your house. I was about to leave when I saw you get arrested. I followed. It's been hours. You okay?"

John wasn't sure how to answer that, but he felt incredibly happy to see her. He knew she wanted to know what was going on, but she wasn't asking and he felt very grateful.

She moved closer to him and nearly whispered, "I don't think you're going to be arrested. I overheard two officers arguing. I think they were talking about you."

John stared at her, a slimmer of hope washing over his chest.

Another loud buzz and both he and Claire looked over their shoulders to see another, older black officer strolling over to the two of them, a smile on his face as he shook his head. He stopped a few metres away, looking at John, than Claire, then John again, his eyebrows raising toward his salt and pepper hair. The officer whistled as he crossed his arms and stared at John. John sighed softly, not sure whether to smile or not. This was Officer Gene Williams, someone he knew very well, to the point that they were on first-name basis. He liked Williams, up to a point. He was still a policeman.

"Christ, Bender." Williams said, looking at him, "What the hell have you gotten yourself into? Didn't I tell you not to come back?"

"Wasn't my fault, Williams." John said, looking at the officer seriously, "You have to help me. They did something to Mark. You need to find him. Find him, Williams!"

"He's fine, John. He's okay." Williams said reassuringly, reaching for a set of keys hanging by his belt.

"What?" John said, his eyes welling up. His hands were in fists as he tried to keep his tears from falling, "He's okay? I didn't see him, I didn't see him."

"He is." Williams said, placing a hand on John's arm. "He appeared after you left the house, calling for him. Officer Milligans found him."

John stared at him, a fist to his forehead, "Thank fucking Jesus H. Christ. Where was he? Where is he?"

"He was hiding under his bed at home." Williams replied, finding the key he wanted and placing it into the lock of John's cell. Williams slid the door open and John stepped out, "Playing 'Peek-a-boo'? Or somethin'."

John couldn't help it, he was laughing out loud. The sense of relief he felt washed over him and there was a tremendous weight that was removed from his shoulders. However, his relief quickly left when he remembered where his brother was.

"I have to go back there." John said looking at the officer.

"That's not a good idea, John." Williams said, looking at him, leading John and Claire out toward the door he had come from and into a long, white corridor. Phones could be heard behind more closed doors.

"I have to!" John practically yelled, his thoughts racing, his heart pumping, "I can't leave him there. Something is going to happen to him."

"Bender, your parents are the ones that called the police after you, remember?" Williams told him in a forced calm voice, turning around and placing a hand forcefully on John's shoulder, "It is not a good idea."

"I have to do something." John was completely adamant. He couldn't leave Mark there. He fucking wouldn't.

"At the moment, you can't do shit. Alright?" Williams told him slowly, "You do anything rash and I won't be able to help you, you understand? Come on, we gotta get your stuff and you can get the hell out of here."

John closed his eyes briefly and nodded slowly, wondering what he could be doing. He followed Williams toward another set of doors until they were now in the main entrance of the police station. He felt something on his hand and looked. Claire had reached over and had placed her hand in his, squeezing comfortably. She was not looking at him, appearing shy. He felt hesitant at first at the touch, but realised he actually needed it and kept his hand with hers.

"Is there _anything_ you can do?" John finally asked, as the three of them stopped at the entrance.

"Believe me, kid," Williams said, looking at him seriously, "I've been looking at you, your case, your goddamned entire family since I met you. I haven't given up."

"What else do you need?" John asked him, incredulously.

"Evidence." Williams sighed after a pause.

"What, my bruises aren't enough?" John asked him, angrily, "My face, my fucking legs and arms...?"

"You have a record, Bender, with fights and other...related issues, outside your home. You're considered unreliable." Williams replied tiredly, rubbing his eyes. He raised his hands up before John could retort, "You're not, I've never thought you were, but you need to consider the circumstantial evidence involved. To an objective point of view, it's tainted."

"Fuck..." John said, his temper rising. He felt another squeeze. Claire. He breathed, "Okay. Well, how can I know Mark is okay?"

"Your parents called on kidnapping, false, but it's an issue. Officers will be in and out of there for awhile. Statements, that sort of thing." Williams sighed, "Look, not a lot can be solved tonight. You look dead on your feet. Do you have a place to stay?"

"N-"

"Yes."

John and Williams turned their head to look at Claire. Her face was determined as she quickly looked at John very surprised face, then turned back to Williams, "John has a place to stay."

Williams paused, then, "Okay. Miss, I'll just need a name, a number, and an address, in case I need to talk to John, or you."

"Sure." Claire said, letting for of John hand and taking a pen from Williams.

John stared at the back of Claire's head, not understanding what he was feeling at the moment. Vulnerable, grateful, miserable...and something else...strange. He shook his head from his thoughts. Now was not the time and yet, he didn't think he wanted anything more at that moment.

* * *

Brian could hear his parents arguing again. About him, of course. He had opened his door slightly to listen to what it was.

"I don't care, Richard." his mother was saying, "He got a detention! That will go on his permanent record and then where will we be? Next, it will be drugs and sex! He'll never go to college"

"Christ, Mercedes!" his father hissed at her, "What the hell are you talking about? He made one mistake! One!"

"One mistake is all it takes, as you should know!" his mother yelled, "Brian makes one, then another, then another."

"There you go with the insults again." her father yelled back. A loud bang and it sounded like his father had slammed something on the dining table, "Don't bring your personal issues with my family into this. This is our family, now. _This, right here!_"

His mother made a scoffing noise.

"You push him, way too hard." his father continued, obvious calm in his voice, "You keep doing this and there is going to be some permanent damage. You are pushing him away from us. _You are._

"Now who is insulting whom?" His mother replied, angrily, "Who's going to push him, anyway? You? Ha! You hardly talk to him, and when you do, it sounds like you're trying for a job interview. You can't impress him. Face it, you're boring."

"Guess who you married?" His father retorted, smugly.

Brian couldn't listen anymore and closed his door with a snap. This wasn't unusual. His mother was bitter, temperamental, and angry about everything. Anything could set her off. He figured his father had just given up arguing with her; he wasn't very confrontational to begin with, just quiet and observant. He knew both his parents cared about him and his sister, but it obvious they cared about arguing more. Brian wondered if they ever did love each other. He wondered if maybe they were happy at one time. When they first met. How long did it take before everything went downhill? Brian was born a year after they had married and he's pretty sure he was not planned. His mother was forced to quit school and his father had to take a second job. Something Brian's mother never forgot to remind him when she was really angry with him.

Brian walked away from his door and looked at his bookshelf. He really wanted to read something. He hadn't picked out any books from the library in a few days and reading was the only way he could take him mind off of...this. He sighed softly, thinking he should just re-read a favourite book. He looked over his shelves, everything placed according to genres; science-fiction, non-fiction, biographies, philosophy, science. Nothing was catching his eye. Brian was definitely not in the mood. He honestly didn't know what to do with himself.

He remembered reading about ways to keep oneself from getting bored; meditation, writing, drawing. All of these things, unfortunately, needed the right brain, the creative side. Brian was too much of an analytical thinker. He'd rather solve math equations and understand the bio-mechanics of the human skeleton. He remember the last time he tried to draw, his art teacher told him it was so bad, he should quit while he was ahead. Brian immediately changed interests which was when his mother decided to involve herself.

Brian remembered better days. Particularly camping. His parents used to be avid hikers and campers. Before Brian's, his father used to take his mother to their favourite camping spots and as far back as he could remember, that's where they took him. Then suddenly, it stopped. He didn't remember why, but excuses were made, camping trips were becoming less and less, arguments were appearing more and more and then Mary was born. Camping ended completely. His poor sister Mary. She was born into something dysfunctional. Maybe she was an accident too, or perhaps a fix-it to replace Brian. If he was gone, would things be better?

Brian frowned, a mirthless chuckle leaving his lips as he walked backwards to sit on the edge of his bed. He hadn't thought about suicide in a while. Before the flare gun went off in his locker and he survived detention, suicide was almost a daily thought and it ate at him, constantly. It was all he thought about and it led his daily life. He had no interests, no motivation. He hated the praises from his teachers, he hated the bitterness from his mother, he hated the sight of his friends; Larry, Teagan, even Deb. He just wanted it to be over.

Things have changed, though. He couldn't deny that. Deb had mentioned he seemed happier and he felt that way. He liked that Allison would join him for lunch. He liked that Claire, a very popular girl in school, looked forward to meeting with him in the library. He had interests again and he was motivated to do well, not to please him mother, but because _he_ wanted to, Brian wanted to.

He had made some changes, too. Subtle ones, ones he doubted his mother knew about. Yet. He had dropped Latin club. That was a big one, but Mrs. Gordon was easily 90 years old and Brian doubted she would notice a student missing. He also hated Latin. That was a sigh of relief. Instead, he spoke to the shop teacher, Mr. Yates, and he agreed to help Brian on his work. The only reason he didn't do well in that class in the first place, was because Brian thought it was an easy 'A', something he could just get by with - his mistake. Brian didn't realise there was as much concept and theory learning required for that class than any other course. Yates told him a car engine was the next project; Brian had already read ahead and was determined to impress his teacher in the next few days.

Brian fell to his bed. His parents were not arguing anymore but there was a lot of tension in the air. There was a soft knock on his door.

Curious, Brian swung his legs over and walked to his door, opening it. There was his sister, looking up at him. She had been crying, but was trying to hide it. Brian sighed and opened his door wider, his sister walked in and he closed the door softly behind her. He turned and saw his sister struggling to get onto his bed, a doll in her hand. This one was small and soft, one she's had since she was a baby. Brian watched as Mary finally made it onto the bed and crawled under the covers.

This was not an unusual occurrence. The first time Mary had turned to him was two years ago when she had a better concept of understanding her parents were not on good form. He had opened his door and Mary barged in, stomping into his room. He was not pleased at the time and it took her almost an hour before she finished with her tantrum and he managed to coax her to explain what her problem was and to get out of his room. Mary eventually tried to explain through hiccups and tears that she was sad. Brian chose not to kick her out of his room, understanding what she was going through, because had gone through it as well. He allowed her to stay while he worked on his homework. When he finished, he turned from his desk and saw Mary fast asleep on his bed. He didn't mind at all.

This was going to be another one of those nights. Though, now, Brian has been reading to her from different books from his bookshelf. Not caring to do his homework, he walked over to his shelves again and picked up the last book he was reading from, "Chemistry, Part IV". He sat on his bed and looked at his sister. She gave him a small smile and waited, her small fingers tightly wrapped around her doll. Brian opened up the book, flipping through to read where he had left off and found, _Thermodynamics_. He allowed himself a small smile, knowing his sister didn't understand what he was reading, but he had a feeling that wasn't was important to her. Brian took another glance at his sister, her eyes already closed. He looked back at the chapter and began to read out loud.

* * *

_I hope this shows some more insight into what these kids are dealing with. _

_Thank you for reading!_


	7. Chapter 7

_Thanks to everyone who has been reading so loyally. I really, truly appreciate the praises I've received._

_And thank you, for your patience._

* * *

Allison's day went with a breeze. She didn't remember the last time she had felt so happy about everything going on in her life. Despite Greg's muttering comments against her and Andy's relationship-wait. Could she call it a relationship? What do people do when they kiss and hold hands? Did they sit down and talk about it and decide? Allison was starting panic again as she made her way to her parents' house. She wasn't sure if she could even say she was in a relationship. Would Andy agree? They didn't exactly have a smooth transition since Monday. She was actually quite angry with him for most of the week. What was happening?

"Stop, Allison." Allison told herself, stopping in her tracks and stomping her foot.

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly several times before she began walking again. It was nearly nine o'clock at night and it was cold. Allison wrapped her jacket tighter around herself as she walked, glad the house was only a few minutes away. Allison turned and stepped onto her parents' driveway. Their car wasn't parked in front of the house. She could only guess where they were, but she didn't care. They never told her where they spent their money. Allison shoved her key into the lock, half-expecting it not to work, but the lock turned and Allison made her way inside. It was dark but warm. She removed her hood and closed the door behind her. She felt her way and reached for a switch by the kitchen to turn it on.

It was so quiet inside. Allison reached for the fridge, and stared into it. She had finally purchased her own groceries and shoved them messily into the fridge. This might have bothered her parents, in fact, it probably did. Allison was somewhat surprised her food was still inside, that her mother hadn't thrown it out. Instead, someone had taken her things and placed them in a drawer at the bottom of the appliance. Allison reached down to pull out the drawer and stared at the processed cheese, ham, loaf of bread, mushrooms, carrots, and a small thing of milk. She pulled out the milk and bread, having decided on a grilled cheese.

She removed her jacket, feeling the heat and placed it on her kitchen table. She reached over the stove and began pulling out a frying pan and some oil. She began to cook. Allison's thoughts moved from homework she still needed to finish, whether Hashimoto called her house, which she told herself, he probably did, and back to Andy again. She wondered if he was in trouble, curious about how his talk went. Allison was finished cooking and turned off the stove. She pulled out a plate and turned the pan upside down. Her sandwich landed with a plop onto the plate and she threw the hot pan into the sink. She picked up her plate and the small jug of milk and placed them both on the dining table. She sat in front of her food and started chewing on her sandwich thoughtfully.

She looked around her, noticing the quiet and the dark house, suddenly realising how very lonely she was. She frowned and finished her sandwich and half the jug of milk. After she was done, she reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope. She looked inside to make sure everything was correct and placed it on the kitchen counter so her parents' could see it. Allison washed her pan and her dish, replacing the milk before heading up the stairs and reaching for the cord to pull down the attic door. She moved to the side as the ladder fell and she climbed it, looking forward to staying in her bed.

The next morning, she woke up to the sound of loud laughter. Allison groaned and stretched, trying to focus her eyes. She turned her head and looked at the clock. It was seven in the morning. She sighed, rubbing her eyes. She didn't sleep until 3 AM, her mind occupied on the mural she was trying to finish. She didn't make it very far, disappointed in most of her starts. She figured her mind was preoccupied, so she had given up and decided to fall asleep. Laughter again. It was high-pitched and annoying. Her mother. There was more laughter, barking this time. Not her father's, it sounded unfamiliar.

Allison sighed and knowing she couldn't go back to bed, she sat up rubbing her face. She made her way out of bed and shuffled toward her clean pile of clothes and dressed. Yawning, she opened her attic door and allowed the ladder to fall. She made her way down and felt her stomach rumble, making a face at the weird laughter coming from downstairs. Allison hesitated at the top of the stairs, not really looking forward to going to the ground floor. She sighed, feeling hungry and walked down, her mind focused on food.

"Oh, Allison, dear." Allison turned slowly to look at her mother, her eyebrows raised. Her mother had a mug of coffee in her hand and was sitting across a man she had never seen before. Her mother continued, her cheeks slightly red as she looked at the man then back at Allison, "This is Rey. Rey, this is my daughter, Allison."

Allison didn't say anything, curious as to why her mother was suddenly paying attention to her. She looked at her mother than this man, Rey. _What a stupid name_, Allison thought. She knew she was making them both uncomfortable but that was what she was best at and she enjoyed it.

"It's nice to meet you, Allison." Rey said, standing, a forced smile across his face.

She stared at him, then her mother with a raised eyebrow.

"Allison. It's rude if you don't say 'hello', back."

She sighed, looking at her mother, "Why should I care who you sleep with? Mother?"

"Uh-" Rey started, looking quite embarrassed.

"Allison!" her mother said angrily, "Apologise, right now!"

Allison crossed her arms and glared at her mother's furious face before turning back to Rey, "No."

"Allison!" her mother practically screeched as her daughter walked away from them, heading for the kitchen, "How dare you-"

"By the way, _mother_," Allison called over her shoulder, "the rent money is on the counter. Did you see it? It should be the right amount."

There was an awkward silence as Allison reached for her cereal in the cabinets. She could hear some rapid talking and whispering and the sliding of a glass door. She could hear her mother's footsteps heading in her direction, but Allison didn't care. What was her mother going to do, yell at her? That would be a first. Ignore her? Nothing would have changed.

"I've never been so embarrassed in my life." was her mother's hissy response. Not getting the response she wanted, Allison's mother continued, "Do you know who that was? What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?"

Allison swallowed the last bit of food, placing her empty bowl and spoon in the sink. She walked past her mother, not bothering to look at her. She felt a hand on her arm and moved away as if the touch stung. She never felt so angry. She hated anyone touching her, especially her mother.

"Don't touch me!" Allison yelled, her face livid, "Don't _ever_ touch me!"

Her mother was looking back at her daughter with surprise and possible fright. Her mouth was moving as if she was trying to talk or perhaps cry, Allison didn't care. She glared at her mother and walked out of the kitchen and up the stairs toward her room. She reached for her bag and reached for her sketchbooks and pencils to stuff them inside. She ran out of her room and rushed down the stairs. Her mother was still in the kitchen, a hand on her mouth, looking at the floor.

"Don't change the locks, either." Allison said stopping for just a moment. Her mother looked up, tears in her eyes. Allison ignored this and walked out the front door, talking over her shoulder, "I don't mind breaking a window."

* * *

Andy drove for a long time. A very long time. He wasn't going in any particular direction either. If he felt like making a left, he turned, if he wanted to go on a highway and head west for awhile, he did. There was so much going on in his head. He had never walked out on his father like that before, never ignored him.

And he was so fucking scared.

He had already been driving for two hours and his car was getting low on gas. Andy looked for signs on the highway and got off the nearest exit, a Shell just off the turn. He followed the off ramp until he saw the gas station just off to his left. He turned into it and found an empty pump. He turned off his car and stepped out, looking around. He had never been here before. It was practically empty except for a gas station and few restaurants pick-pocketing the area. He closed the door of his car and pulled open one of the gas station double doors to hobble inside. He looked around, heading for one the aisles and reaching for a bag of crisps. He really needed to snack on something. He hadn't eaten since he got home and it was usually dinner. He walked to the fridges in the back and also picked up a can of soda. He turned and headed back toward the cashier to pay for his items and the gas.

"This and pump 5. Here's a 10.00."

"Andy? Andy Clark?"

He looked up at the sound of his name and stared at the cashier. He looked older than him by a few years, long hair around his face. He looked as if he hadn't bathed in days.

"Yo, Andy! Don't you recognise me? It's Gene! Gene Parisi!"

"Gene..." Andy thought, feeling confused. Then he remembered and exclaimed, giving Parisi a five, "Parisi! Whoa, how are you, man? What're you doin' here?"

"Just working here, man." Parisi said, taking Andy's soda and crisps and ringing them against the cash register, "doing what I can to get out of this shithole."

"Everyone on the team thought you left for college on scholarship." Andy said, looking at him surprised, "What happened there?"

"Aw, man, didn't work out. Too hard what with parties and classes and shit." Parisi said, bagging Andy's things, "So, this with gas, it comes to $13.50."

"So...you came back here." Andy said, staring at him and handing over the money.

"Yeah, had to, man." Parisi said, counting out the money and dropping it into the register, "before the old man kicked me out. Hey, it's all good. I'm making it. Got my own trailer and everything."

Andy stared at him then finally nodded getting back his change and grabbing the bag Parisi handed him.

"So, hey," Parisi started, "maybe we can hang or something. Get the rest of the team together."

"Uh, sure," Andy said, backing out of the store and gave him a final wave, "I'll tell them I saw you."

Before Parisi could answer, Andy had already made his way out of the store and walking swiftly to his car. He opened his car door and dropped his purchased items inside. He walked to the side of his car and opened the lid of his gas tank. He reached for the pump and and pulled it off, flipping the switch. He shoved it into his gas tank and leaned against his car.

Andy turned his head to look back into the store and shook his head. Parisi was staring at a magazine and looking incredibly bored. Andy had a sudden terrified thought. Was he going to end up like Parisi? Gene was the talk of the school during his four years in high school, he had even won national championships across the states. He was the star. How the hell did he end up at a gas station in some hick end of town. It was surreal. Andy did not want to end up that way. He didn't want to stay in Illinois, he wanted to leave the state and move somewhere else, away from this life his father had set up for him. But he didn't want to be like Parisi.

There was a click and Andy stood straight to pull the pump away from his tank. He replaced the pump and closed the lid of his gas tank. He reached for his door and stepped in, taking one last look in the store as he turned on his ignition. Parisi looked up then and gave Andy a small wave. Andy stepped on the gas and drove away from Shell.

Andy turned his car back onto the highway and headed for home. He was ready to talk to his father. He doubted he would regret it, but he felt terrified. He knew his father was going to be angry and his temper was going to rise, but Andy didn't want to end up in a gas station, replying on his parents. He did want to go to college. No, his grades were excellent, but they weren't bad. If he got into school with a scholarship, that's great, but wrestling or any sport for that matter wasn't going to dictate his life.

He realised he was a lot closer to home than he thought, but it still seemed to take forever because he was already second-guessing himself as he got closer home. It was too late to turn back now and he needed to get through this. Andy finally saw his house and turned into the driveway. It was dark outside as Andy turned off his car. And quiet. Andy took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was a familiar technique he used before every match. Breath and count to ten, simultaneously. It helped calm his nerves and forced him to focus. He opened his door and stepped out onto the driveway. His keys in his hands, he walked to the front door and placed his keys inside the lock.

"Andrew."

Andy turned his head when he walked in. His mother was sitting on the edge of the couch, her eyes red but dry. His father was beside her. He did not look happy at all and was glaring at his son. It looked as if his parents had been arguing all the way until they heard the door unlock.

"Where the hell have you been?" Andy's father said angrily, looking at him.

"Driving-" Andy started.

"'Driving'?" His father interrupted, standing now, "What the hell kind of answer is that?"

"George-" Andy's mother started, placing a hand on her husband's arm.

Andy's father pulled away and walked around the coffee table, toward his son, "Who the hell do you think you are, Andrew? Did you forget about the meet tomorrow?"

"No, I didn't." Andy said, between his teeth.

"Don't take that tone with me." Andy's father said, his finger pointing in Andy's direction, "What in the world did you think you're doing?"

Andy didn't say anything, his jaw set.

"Answer me, Andrew."

"I don't want to wrestle, anymore." Andy finally said, not really looking at his father.

There was a tense silence.

"Excuse me?" his father practically whispered out of anger.

"I don't," Andy swallowed and then looked at his father in the eye, "I don't want to wrestle, anymore."

"What do you mean you don't want to wrestle anymore?" His father asked slowly.

Andy sighed, trying to put the words together, "I want to wrestle because I choose to, not because you force me to."

"What? I've never forced you-"

"That's ALL you've done!" Andy yelled, his temper taken over his head.

His father blinked at Andy's shouts. He was speechless. Andy wasn't done, his anger spilling out of his mouth, "'FIGHT, ANDY'! 'WIN'! 'BE A WINNER, ANDY, NEVER A LOSER'! 'WIN'! 'WIN'! '_WIN_'!"

Fresh tears were falling down his mother's face, her hands around her head. His father was opening his mouth and closing it, not sure what to say. He had lowered his finger and he no longer looked angry. He was staring at his son as if realising who he was for the first time.

"That's ALL you cared about! Winning!" Andy yelled, all fear gone. Angry tears were welling in his eyes, his heart pumping in his ears, "Just _you_ and reliving your goddamned glory days! You tried it through Jeff and you _failed_, he moved away and has a life of his own. You won't even talk to him anymore. You've always done it through me! And Ryan...Ryan will never have to deal with you."

At the sound of his little brother's name, his father blinked and stared at Andy as if he just punched him in the face.

"I wish my foot _was_ broken." Andy conintued, "I wish you'd just forget all about me...I...I _fucking..._hate you."

Andy's vision was clouded with anger and tears and despair. He could hear soft cries from his mother and could see the outline of his father standing in front of him. He turned away and roughly wiped the tears that had fallen on his face with a hand. Silently, he walked toward the stairs and made his way into his room.

* * *

Claire was making her way down the large stairs of the police station and headed for her car. She turned her head to say something to John, but he wasn't there. She stopped walking halfway down the steps and turned to see John still standing by the double doors of the police house. His hands were in his pockets and he was looking down, his eyes hidden under his hair.

"John?" Claire called to him. When he didn't answer her, she walked up the steps again and stood beside him, "John, what's wrong?"

"Nothin'." He finally said and exhaled. He walked past her and down the steps, "I need to go."

"Go?" Claire asked his retreating back. She followed him quickly behind, "Go where?"

"Away." Was John's short answer as he stepped on the sidewalk and walked away from the police station and her car.

"Where Mark is?" Claire asked him. John didn't reply and walked faster, Claire keeping up, "That officer in there told you that was bad idea. John!"

"I have no other choice! Don't follow me!" John replied.

"Yes, you do! I'm offering you a place to stay!" Claire walked in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Don't touch me." John said, but he stopped walking.

Claire removed her hand but stood her ground, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

John turned his head slowly to look at her. His glare frightened her, he was very intimidating when he wanted to be. She closed her eyes briefly and exhaled to calm her nerves.

"I'm offering you a place to stay. Why won't you take it?"

"I don't want your charity, princess." John replied simply.

"Charity?" Claire repeated then she narrowed her eyes, "This isn't about charity! You need a place to stay and I'm giving it to you. If you go back there, you're going to get arrested again and who knows if that officer in there will be able to help you next time? Apparently, you have quite the record! How is being in there going to help Mark, anyway? Huh? Can you answer that?"

John looked away, not saying anything.

"You are so fucking stubborn!" Claire said, frustratingly, "What are you afraid of?"

"Hey!" John said, rounding on her, "I'm not afraid of anything!"

"Yes, you are!" Claire retorted, staring back at John, "You're afraid of a lot and you can't admit to it because you don't want to be seen as weak. Well, guess what? I saw everything in that police station, Bender. I'm not about to forget it."

Claire watched John's face turn from angry to frustrated than finally defeat. No, Claire didn't know the whole story. She didn't know who Mark was or what was going on. She could figure out that this Mark person was probably very important to John that he would get himself arrested. Twice. She wasn't going to ask, though. It was not the right time. It might never be the right time. She had seen John Bender had his most vulnerable and he was probably hating himself for that. No way was Claire going to ask him any questions about his personal life. She also realised, this had to be his decision.

"I'm going to my car and I'll wait for awhile." Claire told him, reaching into her purse to pull our her keys, "I hope you come."

John wasn't really looking at her. She turned around and started to walk. She wanted to look back and see if he was following, but he might leave if she did. Or maybe he already left. She didn't know. Her heart was pounding in her chest but she wasn't going to allow it to take over, which surprised her slightly. It was interesting how much she had changed in just a matter of a week, had turned a new leaf. Claire decided she liked herself more.

Claire reached her car and placed her keys into the lock. Without looking, she slipped inside and closed the door. She sighed, wondering how much she should wait. She looked at her watch. It was almost nine. She'll wait ten minutes, that should be good enough. She sighed again and placed her arm back by her side, very tempted to look for John. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes-

Claire jumped at the sound of a knock on her passenger window. John. She looked at him for a moment before reaching over and opening the lock for him. John opened the door and climbed in, slamming the door beside him. He didn't say anything as he worked his jaw and frustratingly moved his hair away from his face. Claire allowed herself a small smile before turning on the ignition.

A half hour later, Claire was pulling up into her parents' driveway and parked her car behind her mother's again. She turned off her ignition and looked at John. His eyes were wide as he stared through the windshield at her house. Claire opened her door and stepped out, hearing John do the same.

"Holy shit, princess." John said, his eyes looking at the large cars in the driveway, the outline of the large house, the massive lawn that leads toward the front door, "I didn't know you were this filthy rich."

Claire chose to ignore this and led the way into house, past the small greenhouse and toward the front door. She placed her key into the lock and opened the door before stepping inside. She held the door open for John's heavy boots to make their way into her foyer, his eyes working every inch of the house. Claire continued, walking toward the kitchen where her father might be.

"Daddy?" Claire called.

"Sweetheart, is that you?" Her father was in the kitchen.

Claire walked in and stopped when she saw him, "Hi, daddy."

"Hey, sweetheart." Her father looked up from the paper and smiled, but it turned quickly into a frown when he saw John standing behind her, "Uh, Claire, who is this?"

"He's a good friend of mine." Claire said to him, taking a step forward, "and he needs a place to stay."

"Excuse me?" Her father said, raising his eyebrows, a glass of red wine in his hand. He looked at Claire then looked at John, "I'm-I'm sorry, who are you? Have we-have we met, before?"

John was exploring the kitchen now, opening cabinets and cupboards and reaching in to look through them. He turned his head to look at Claire's father and gave him a wide grin before before holding out his hand, "John. I made out with your daughter on the hood of your car on Saturday after detention."

"John..." Claire said softly at the same time her father sputtered into his wine.

"What? No, no, I'm sorry, Claire." Her father said standing and looking at John then at Claire, "No, he can't stay here. He's-he's a hoodlum-"

"Oh, let her have her fun, Edward." Claire turned her head to see her mother coming into the kitchen a bottle in hand and a large wine glass in the other. She was wobbling forward, a drunk grin on her face. She looked at John, looked him up and down a minute and laughed as she walked past him, "He's handsome, Claire."

Claire placed a hand to her forehead and sighed. She could feel her cheeks burning and a headache coming on.

"You put her up to this, didn't you, Belinda?" Claire's father started, now standing beside his wife as she found her bottle and slammed the door of the fridge shut, "I say no! I'm the man of this house-"

"Oh, shut up, Eddy." Claire's mother said, looking at him and slamming the bottle on the counter, "You haven't been 'man of this house' since your last girlfriend realised you couldn't bring it up anymore."

"Belinda!" Her father stuttered, "How-how dare you-"

Claire felt a presence beside her and she looked to see John, watching his parents, a small smirk on his face. She sighed softly, ignoring the shouts and reached for his hand, pulling him toward the back of the house, past the living room, the sitting room, the large dining room and toward the back garden. She opened the doors and stepped out onto the deck where the large near olympic-sized pool was located. She heard John whistle at the sight. Claire let go of John's hand and inhaled deeply before she screamed.

Silence.

"Feel better, princess?"

"Just a bit." Claire said with a sigh. She pointed over a fair distance away from the pool where a small attachment to the main house was sitting, "That's the pool house. It's a comfortable room. I used to stay in there when I needed to get away." _I still do_, she thought, "It's open."

"Don't you want to show me?" John asked her.

Claire looked at him then shrugged. She walked past the pool and led John toward the pool house. She reached for the handle and twisted it open. With her left hand she felt for the light switch on the wall and flipped it on. She moved to the side to allow John to walk through. She stared at his face and smiled. There really was quite a bit of pink inside the room. Her mother decorated it, but Claire had admit, she did like the colour. Maybe not so much anymore. She watched as John made his way around, fingering things, his eyes wandering. He finally settled on the edge of the bed his hands between his legs and sighed.

"I'll take it."

"Good." Claire nodded her head and pointed, "There's the bathroom, right through that door. I'll see you tomorrow, John."

"Ahh, princess." John started, looking at her, "I've got detention with _Dick_."

Claire giggled, "That's right. How many is that?"

"Seven...eight..." John started then shrugged. Claire gave him a smile and turned, then, "What, no kiss goodnight?"

Claire looked at him and shook her head, "Nope."

She was just about to leave when he called out to her, "So, what's this?"

"Uhm, be careful with that." Claire said quickly, walking into the room and taking an instrument case away from John who was holding it his hands, "please."

"What is it?" John asked again, looking at her, then the case.

Claire paused before answering, not really looking at him, "My violin."

"Violin?" John asked, disbelievingly.

Claire frowned, feeling defensive, "What?"

"A violin."

"Yes, a violin." Claire replied, her eyebrow furrowed, "What? You have a problem with me knowing how to play the violin?"

"I'm just...surprised. It's pretentious and fitting." John said, leaning back and smirking at her, "Play it."

"No." Claire said after a moment. She placed the violin back down on the floor, into a corner of the room, "Not now."

"Why not?"

Claire stared at him, frowning. She didn't quite know why she was becoming so angry with him, but she was. She turned and walked out of the room and said before closing the door behind her, "Just leave it alone, Bender. Good night."

* * *

John stared after Claire's retreating back and watched her close the door, confused. He turned his head to look at the violin case in the corner of the room. He was tempted to look at it but he changed his mind. He stood up and pulled off his coats, throwing them on the bed. Then he kicked off his shoes and placed them by the door. He took another look at the room, frowning, letting out a small chuckle at the amount of _shit_ that was in the room and so much fucking furniture. It was amazing anyone could navigate. It was a fire hazard.

John walked over to the bathroom door and opened it up. He was impressed. A large tub with a shower attached was in the middle of the room, a toilet and one of those things where the water shot up. John made a face, thinking about it. He stepped inside and reached for the shower knobs. He cocked his head trying to figure out how to use it. He reached for the largest one and turned it. It seemed to have started the tub tap. He looked up to the shower head and reached for another knob. Water spilled and jumped back in surprise, cold water on his face. He sighed, feeling agitated then reached and turned yet another knob. He placed his hand under the water and felt it growing warmer.

When John was finally finished with the bathroom he replaced his clothes and fell on the bed, landing on something lumpy. He sat up and reached behind him. Clothing; sweatpants and a t-shirt. They weren't there before. Claire must have walked in while he was bathing and left. John frowned, placing the clothes on the edge and falling back down, an arm behind his head. She was avoiding him. Probably, his fault; he was good at that. He shouldn't even feel bothered Claire was avoiding him, but he did and he found this incredibly annoying. He frowned at the ceiling, forcing himself to think about something else.

His stomach turned as he thought about Mark. He had never been so scared in his life. He truly thought his brother was hurt, badly, fatally. He wouldn't put it past his father. He also wish he had cigarettes. Was he going to be allowed back home? He was 17, not quite 18; he was still under his parents' care. John allowed a humourless chuckle under his breath. _Care_? His parents never cared about him. He didn't know how he survived his _own_ fucking childhood. He didn't have anyone growing up, just drugs and abusive parents. Mark had him. He needed to make sure of it.

He sat up, unable to sleep. He let out a frustrated grunt and stood, feeling his stomach growl. He sighed then crossed the room, opening the door to the room. He felt the cool air against his skin, but ignored it as he stepped out. He could hear the water in pool hitting softly against the tiled walls. There were lights at its bottom, reflecting off the water. John walked past the pool and reached the glass doors that led back inside the main house. He paused, wondering if Claire's parents were still inside. He felt weird. It was funny when her parents argued, but weird.

"John."

He turned around quickly and saw no one. He furrowed his eyebrows. He wasn't crazy. He heard a giggle and looked up. There was Claire sitting on the roof of her house. She was watching him from the edge of the tiles. He backed up a bit on the pool deck to see her properly. She gave him a small wave and smile.

"Hi." she said.

"Peepin' on me, Princess?" John asked, unable to stop himself, "Is that how you get your kicks?"

Claire rolled her eyes, "No."

"What are you doin' up there?"

"I sit here a lot. It's peaceful. You can see the whole city."

John looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of the city lights. He looked back up at Claire, who was staring out, "How'd you get up there?"

"My room." Claire said, pointing to a window right above her, "I took the screen out so I can leave whenever I want."

"Never thought you had it in you." John replied after a moment, drinking her in. He furrowed his eyebrows, shaking himself out of it.

"You don't know me that well, Bender." Claire said to him.

John wanted to, though. _Fuck_, he thought, angrily to himself. He looked back up at Claire who was no longer visible. Did she leave? He frowned, taking another step back to see and suddenly realised there was nothing there. He fell back landed in the water. He sputtered and coughed as his head found the surface again, and he reached for the edge of the pool. He could hear Claire laughing above him, but he ignored it, pulling himself out. He shuddered, it was fucking cold.

"You okay?" Claire called.

"No." John replied irritably, sitting on the side and shaking his wet hair out of his face.

"I'll be down in a second."

John sighed, his teeth chattering. He stood up and wrapped his arms around himself, heading for the pool house. He opened the door and stepped in, the warmth already washing over him, but it was still cold. He made his way to the bathroom and pulled the towel off the rack after stripping his clothes off. He towelled himself off and wrapped it around himself. He stepped out and reached for the clothes on the bed.

There was a knock on the door, "John? You okay?"

"Yeah." John answered, pulling the trousers on. They fit rather well, although he felt like an idiot. He pulled the shirt over his head before walking to the door and opened it.

Claire was standing there, another set of towels and clothes in her hands. She was smiling because she heard his stomach growl, "Hungry?"

John didn't answer her but she turned and started walking back into the house. He was hungry. He was always hungry. He hadn't eaten since...he just hadn't eaten. He sighed softly to himself before following Claire inside. She closed the doors behind him and started walking toward the kitchen, past all the different room inside the house. John had never seen a place so big. It reminded him of a mall. A big one, where you can find anything you wanted and everything was set up just so. Delicately and precisely, everything on display. Honestly, he just wanted to run a bat through the place. Not out of malice, but because it sounded like fun.

"I'm not much of a cook." Claire said to him apologetically, before opening the fridge, "but I can make a decent sandwich."

John felt uncomfortable as he watched Claire pull out bread, lettuce, cheeses, different meats, and other things he couldn't name. He wasn't sure what was wrong, but he was jumpy and everything felt strange to him. Almost as if something was out to get him if he were to eat anything he was given. Was it guilt? What was he worried about, beside Mark? This wasn't a worry-about-Mark feeling. This was something else and he had no idea how to describe it.

"John." Claire was calling to him. He looked at her. She gave him a weird smile, "Make a sandwich. I'm going to make my own."

John did and it was a little overwhelming to him how much food there was and he tried to put a little bit of everything, hoping to save some for his baby brother. Claire had laughed a bit at his mess, but he didn't care. He picked up his plate carefully and placed it on the kitchen counter across from Claire. He pulled out a stool and sat in front of his food. He wasn't entirely sure how to eat it.

He heard a metal clink and saw Claire placing a fork and knife in front of him. He made a face and picked up the sandwich and with great difficult took a massive bite, but most of the contents had fallen out and he just had a mouthful of bread. Claire let out a chuckle, but he ignored her as he began placing his sandwich's fallen contents back inside between the bread. He picked it up and tried again.

"Made it that time." Claire said, sitting on her own stool and placing two mugs between them. She had a bottle of red win in her hands and was prying the cork open. She poured the wine into the mugs before placing the bottle back on the table.

"Isn't that your mother's?" John asked, sniffing the wine and making a face.

"Believe me, she won't notice." Claire replied, taking a sip from her own mug.

John continued to eat, drinking the wine only hesitantly at first, not liking the sweet taste, but it was alcohol. Pretty soon, the two of them had finished and were rather drunk as they laughed together about absolutely nothing.

"So, I just push him against the wall and hold him there, yelling, 'There's a Mark on the wall'! It's his favourite game."

Claire was laughing harder now, her head on her arm against the counter. It was awhile before she was able to stop and John was feeling incredibly comfortable and calm. He watched Claire, a small smile on his face. Maybe it was the booze, John didn't know, but he honestly didn't want to _be_ anywhere else. It was difficult for John to admit it. Even now, he just couldn't allow himself to admit anything about her.

"I'm falling asleep, Bender." Claire said, standing slowly. She held onto the counter for support before steadying herself. She slowly reached for their plates and mugs, dropping them into the sink.

John was standing already, unable to control himself. He had made his way to Claire and was standing beside her. She turned her head to see John and gave him a small smile. John pulled her close and placed his mouth on hers. He heard a small moan and this made him happy. He pulled her in tighter.

They stood there for a moment before Claire pulled away from him, shaking her head, "No, no, no…"

John sighed, looking at her. She was making this extremely difficult.

Claire looked at him for a moment, biting her lower lip. _Fuck,_ John thought, _why does she do that?_ He felt her hand pat him lightly on the chest before she said a small "good night" and left.

* * *

Brian was outside. His parents and Mary were out somewhere and Allison had given him a call. She sounded very upset and she had asked if he could hang. Of course, he obliged and walked out of his house, straight away. He made his way hurriedly walking past his neighbourhood and toward the main roads. Allison said they should meet at a local coffee shop. She wasn't very far from him, he knew her neighbourhood. He had ridden his bike around there a few times.

When Brian spotted it across the street, he looked both ways before quickly jogging, fast-walking toward it. He pulled the door open, heard the slight jingle of bells above the door. He looked around, not seeing Allison right away. He walked over to the counter and sat at one of the stools.

"Can I get you anything, honey?" Brian looked up to see a rather portly older woman smiling at him, her name tag reading Bev.

"Uh, milk. Chocolate milk. Hot chocolate milk...please.." Brian said, feeling embarrassed suddenly.

"Sure thing." Bev replied, giving him another smile and turning away.

There was a jingle of bells behind him.

Brian turned his head and saw Allison making his way to sit beside him, her breath heavy as if she had been running. She looked nervous and angry and scared almost. Brian had never seen her this way. He kept his mouth shut as he watched her nervously place her bag on the counter, then back on her lap, then back on her counter. She took off her jacket and placed that across her lap. She wasn't looking at him, as she placed her hands on the counter.

Brian swallowed and asked while Bev placed his chocolate milk on the table, "Allison? You okay?"

Allison was staring at her fingers and looked at him but didn't say anything.

"Want anything, honey?" Bev asked Allison. She merely stared at the waitress until Bev just shrugged her shoulders and walked away to deal with other patrons.

"Alli-" Brian started.

"I made my mother cry." Allison whispered softly.

Brian blinked, confused, but he kept his mouth shut and waited, his hands around his chocolate milk.

"I don't remember ever seeing her cry before." Allison continued softly, "We never talked long enough."

Brian watched her for a moment, then he pushed his chocolate milk toward her. He could understand her frustration and surprise. Allison looked at the milk, then at Brian. She seemed a bit calmer and gave him a small smile before reaching for the hot beverage and taking a sip.

"I'm sorry." Brian said, looking at her.

Allison shrugged slightly, "Isn't your problem. I doubt things will change."

Brian nodded his head, not knowing what else he should do.

"So." Allison started taking another sip, "How have you been?"

Brian shrugged, "Okay. Mom raggin' on me all the time. All the news I've got."

"That's pretty boring, Brian." Allison said, smiling at him.

Brian nodded his head then, "Allison, I was, well, Claire was too, I mean, me at first, but you know, she did, too. Anyway, where have you been? You kinda disappeared."

"Sorry." Allison said, not looking at him. She shrugged, "Went into hiding. Won't happen again."

"Okay." Brian said, wishing she gave him an explanation. He looked at his watch and wondered whether is parents were back yet. He felt a chill across his chest but chose to ignore it, "Any plans for today?"

Allison shook her head, "Stay away from home for as long as possible. You know, every time I leave, I always think they're going to just pack my things and sell them on the front lawn as a yard sale. They've already changed the locks three times on me."

Brian paused, "Maybe they're just really distracted?"

Allison looked at him, realised he was joking and gave him a smile, "Plans?"

"Yeah, right." Brian said, looking at her, "My mother is still pissed about me getting detention and doesn't let me out of her sight."

"How are you here?"

"Snuck out. Parents are out." Brian said reaching for his wallet and pulling out some cash, "Speaking of which, I need to go."

"Don't let her get you down." Allison said, as Brian turned ad gave her a wave before heading back home.

Brian ran this time. He ran across the street, down the sidewalk and turned into his neighbourhood. Brian was not an athlete, he never was, but he ran as fast as he could, adrenaline pumping through him. He knew his parents were going to be in the driveway when he arrived, he knew the sort of hell he was going to receive when he walked in through the door. He knew his mother was going to scream at him, his father was going to stay silent, and his sister staring. He always felt shy and embarrassed. He had all this knowledge in his head and yet he was never able to tell people how he felt. He wasn't very confrontational, guess he probably got that from his father.

Was he destined for the life his father had? Married to a bitter woman, dominated by her force of nature and being disappointed by the family that he raised? Maybe, but he didn't want that to happen. Honestly, wasn't it his choice? Do the things he wanted? Ideally, sure, yeah, that would be the way to go. Brian had figured out the other day that he had the ability to make a decision. A big one. One that would probably change his life, hopefully, for the better.

Brian had an average 4.0, he was competing with Deb to become Valedictorian. Scholarships were easy for him and he was looking at schools that as far as away from Illinois as possible. He had even tempted to look at school outside the United States of America. He made the decision to leave. Thinking back, the very idea would have caused him a panic attack, but recently, things have changed and he has to assume for the better. Who knew detention was going to teach him a lesson?

Brian did receive the tongue-lashing, his father and sister followed the same pattern. He heard his mother berating him all through dinner all the way until he crawled into bed. And yet, he could hardly remember anything she said. She was like a broken record and he had finally found the volume switch, his next goal was the power switch. He wondered what would happen if he argued with his mother. Yelled back at her, explained the choice he's made. Wait. Would he tell her? Why would he tell the person he was trying to stay away from, exactly where he was going? She'd never leave him alone. Ever.

No, it'll be a secret.

* * *

_Ahh, the sound of growing up..._

_Hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are greatly appreciated!  
_


	8. A Bit of Intermission

Dear Faithful and New Readers,

I have not forgotten about you. I really haven't.  
Things are a bit hectic at home so I haven't been able to write in quite a long time. Each character has a background story so each one takes a bit of moulding and patience.

My apologise and I hope you can forgive me. If you would like to help speed things up, perhaps you would like to do me a favour:

**Send me your thoughts!**

Pick a character and tell me through messages what you would like to happen next. It can be anything: apocalyptic implosion formulating a zombie apocalypse or Brian learning to do a handstand. I'll make sure you're credited, of course, for your awesome ideas.

-My best! :D


End file.
